


Tipping the Hourglass

by SKayLanphear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bottom Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Protective Dean Winchester, Romance, Sexual Content, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 167,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKayLanphear/pseuds/SKayLanphear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been ten years since high school – since Cas told Dean how he felt and was rejected. Now he has a new life in Chicago, but he can't avoid that small Kansas town forever. He's home for the holidays and, low and behold, after his rental car breaks down on the side of the road, the first person he happens upon is none other than a certain Dean Winchester. Yet, in a town where homophobia runs rampant and old tiffs still hover, both Dean and Cas may find themselves at the dangerous end of pointed fingers and vulnerable circumstance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Senior year. Last day of school. 2003.

His last chance.

To be frank, he'd been considering this for the last two and a half years, ever since that fateful day when he and Dean Winchester had ended up as partners for their sophomore year's biology project. Dean hadn't been much help and Cas had done almost all the work, but that was neither here nor there at this point. Fact was, that was the first time Cas had been given the chance to talk privately with the football star. Generally he didn't get to affiliate himself with such people.

Dean hadn't been that bad actually. Not horrible and jerkish like Cas had expected. He'd been upfront about the fact that he had no intention of helping with the project and had from there been generally civil. And been so ever since.

He was the only popular guy, in fact, that didn't outright bully Cas whenever they had the chance. Sure, he stood there and laughed occasionally, but he didn't actually participate, which, when you were the biggest loser in school, kind of said something.

Cas was aware that he wasn't the type people would generally want to be affiliated with. He was short, acne spotted, and, well, he should probably wash his hair more often. Add his healthy dose of his social inadequacies and he could kind of understand. In the case of Dean, he was even forgiving.

Because at least Dean wasn't the one throwing things at him in the hallway. Sometimes, when no one else was around, he was even nice. In that gruff and tumble way that Dean could be nice.

But now things were different. They were seniors, graduating, and high school would soon be a forgotten memory. Which was why Cas wasn't going to hide the truth anymore. He was determined to be honest about his feelings, about Dean, and he wasn't going to be a coward.

Life was coming at him fast and he just… had to get it all off his chest.

Which was why, as he approached that big house on the corner of Kraven and East, he ran his hand nervously through his black hair. He'd tried to dress nice, because he knew people like Dean valued that sort of thing. He'd put on his best button-up and the pair of gray slacks he always wore to church.

For Dean, he was trying. He was trying his best.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed the few stairs that led up to the house before, hand shaking, pulling his fist upwards and knocking disjointedly on the door.

There was no turning back now.

Some few seconds later, he heard someone behind the wall and soon the door was opened to him. It wasn't Dean that answered however, but Sam, his younger brother. Tall already and he was only in middle school. While Cas as still hoping he was a late bloomer and would hit a growth spurt in college.

Those were the sorts of things people like Dean cared about, right?

"Uh, hey," Sam stated, looking Cas up and down. "Are you… here for Dean?" He cocked a skeptical brow, his young voice seeming odd coming out of such a tall body. But he was pretty gangly, so perhaps that made up for it.

"Uh, yes," Cas replied stiffly. "I just want to speak with him."

"Sure," Sam stepped aside. "He's upstairs." Nodding, Cas cursed the way his voice cracked before making his way toward the stairs. It was funny actually, how well he knew this big house from the few days he'd spent there after school, working on that biology project.

He knew Dean's room was on the right. The last door.

He tried to keep his breathing under control.

Reaching the correct door, he knocked, uncertain whether it would be appropriate to simply enter or not.

"C'min," Dean's deep voice echoed out to him. "You're early."

He was expecting someone else.

"I'm not… who you think I am," Cas said through the door, his stomach tying in knots. He didn't get an immediate response. Rather, he heard the sound of bedsprings, like someone was getting up, before the bedroom door was pulled open.

And there stood Dean.

He was a broad person, muscular, but Cas also found him to be absolutely beautiful. He had a more feminine face actually, model-like almost, and his hair was spiked up in the front. He sported a pair of old, faded jeans, which didn't hide how bow-legged he was, and a black t-shirt.

He had a curious look on his face.

"Cas?" he said his name with surprise, those green eyes looking him up and down. Cas, however, was momentarily struck remembering the fact that Dean had been the first one to ever call him that. Dean was notorious for giving nicknames to everyone and Cas had never heard his name the same after the shortened version had left those perfect lips. "What… what are you doing here?" He was suspicious.

"I know this is weird," Cas replied, his eyes darting to the side nervously. "I just needed to speak with you. Before graduation." He tried to put emotion into his voice, but failed. Instead, it came out flat and one-noted. Like always.

"Oh," Dean's eyebrows rose, surprise still plastered across his young face. Eventually he just shrugged however, not on guard against Cas's loserdom when no one else was around. "Okay," he stepped back. "Come in I guess."

And ever so slowly, Cas did. He couldn't hide the way his eyes darted around, his shoulders hunched with nerves. And had he been paying attention, he'd have seen the way an amused smirk had lifted one side of Dean's lips.

"So, what can I do for you?" Dean asked once Cas was all the way in. He closed the door behind them, green eyes trained on Cas as he made his way over to his desk and placed himself in the computer chair there. He gestured for Cas to sit down on the bed, which he did after a few second's deliberation.

"I didn't mean to intrude," Cas muttered, his hands folding in his lap nervously. Dean's smirk became a bigger grin.

"You're not," Dean assured easily. "I'm just waiting for some friends is all."

"I see…" Cas took a deep breath. "I'll try not to take up too much of your time then."

"Sure…" Dean actually chuckled a little then, but Cas didn't hear it over the sound of his own anxiety.

"I came here because there's something I want to tell you," he started, his voice only somewhat shaky. "I've wanted to tell you for a long time actually." Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly. "And I figured that, since we're graduating, it couldn't hurt to be honest."

"Is this going to be one of those 'I hate you' speeches that the nerds always tell the jocks in the movies at the end to get some kind of revenge?" Dean was abruptly suspicious. "Because if it is, I'm so not cool with that."

"It's not," Cas assured quickly, his blue eyes wide as he shook his head. Dean nodded then, silent and seemingly content to let the conversation continue. "It's quite the opposite actually."

Those green eyes narrowed.

"Do you remember that biology project we did during sophomore year?"

"Sure…"

"It started then and I… I just want you to know the truth. I don't want to hide it anymore." Cas took a deep, steadying breath, closing his eyes momentarily. He gathered his thoughts, put them in order, and was thankful that Dean remained silent while he did so.

But it didn't matter what words he considered, there was only one way to say it.

He just had to get it over with.

"I…" Cas opened his eyes again, catching Dean's. "I'm in love with you."

There, he'd said it.

And was given silence in return.

At first, it almost seemed like Dean hadn't understood what he'd said. Those big, pretty green eyes narrowed further, his mouth falling open slightly. He stared at Cas as if the words were taking an extra long time to sink into his skull. Like there was some kind of language barrier between them.

But it had to get through eventually.

Standing abruptly, Dean nearly knocked his chair backward into the desk as he did. Cas jumped, but didn't get up from the bed. Rather, somewhat fearfully, he stared up at the muscular jock, uncertain what he should do or say.

"I'm not gay," Dean immediately claimed, though Cas couldn't say he'd expected anything more. He'd just wanted to be honest. One of those things that if he didn't get it off his chest before he left, he'd regret it forever.

"I know that," Cas replied quietly. "I just wanted-"

"Then why are you telling me this?!" Dean asked harshly, Cas nearly shying away from him. "Why are you even saying anything? You should have kept this to yourself!" Still his reaction didn't shock Cas. They'd grown up in a small Kansas town. People being uncomfortable with the thought of homosexuality wasn't exactly new.

"I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. I was jus-"

"Uncomfortable?!" Dean was extremely pale, those green eyes wide, and Cas wondered if perhaps he should have just forgotten the whole thing. "You think that you coming into my house and telling me that you're… What was even the point? I'm not… I'm not a  _fag_  so I don't know what you thought you were accomplishing!"

"You're right," Cas agreed suddenly, Dean still visibly keeping his space. "I shouldn't have said anything." Because he was a "fag." A fag that lived in a small town with narrow-minded people that raised narrow-minded children. He'd known he'd have been hoping for the impossible if he'd considered that Dean would return his feelings, so he hadn't allowed himself that luxury. But he hadn't imagined it totally farfetched that the other boy would be open-minded.

Maybe it was just time he took his faggy self and left this podunk town.

He was going to make something of himself.

And he was  _never_  going to come back.

Dean and his family could keep their prejudices and their labels and their ignorance. First loves were never meant to be.

"I'll leave," Cas stood up suddenly. "I know we don't know each other that well, and you probably hate me for what I told you," Dean was still staring at him with those wide, anxious green eyes. "But you don't have to worry about it anymore. I just wanted to tell you to get it off my chest. I'm going to school and I'm never coming back, so we'll never see each other again.

"Don't worry about me dampening your life anymore with my faggy tendencies."

Pausing to stare at Dean for just a little longer, he eventually had to rip his gaze away and walk to the door. And the whole way he could feel his heart breaking. He'd known this would happen. That he'd be rejected. But still it hurt. Still it stabbed him all over and fisted his lungs until he felt like he'd never be able to breathe again.

Never be able to feel anything but the pain.

And so he left the Winchester house. He walked out Dean's door, down the stairs, and out into the sunlight. He went home, he planned his future, and he never turned his head over his shoulder to look back.

He never saw the way those green eyes watched him, sunk with confusion and apprehension.

How they flowed with doubt.


	2. Turning Tables

"So you haven't been home in ten years?" Balthazar asked as he tossed his friend a package of band-aids. Cas then shoved them into the bathroom related bag of his luggage, which was set up in an orderly fashion across his bed. "Don't you usually fly your parents up here to see you? Why the change now?" His accent was as thick as ever, but Cas had long since ceased having trouble understanding him. They'd been roommates since college after all, though they weren't anymore.

"My father had knee surgery recently," Cas replied flatly as he continued packing clothes into his largest suitcase. "It's unsafe for him to fly at the moment and my mother was not appreciative of the suggestion that we be apart for the holidays." He stared down at his prink sweater and ultimately decided it was unwise to take it with him. He set it off to the side.

"Hey!" Anna pointed at him accusingly from her spot sitting on his windowsill. "I bought you that sweater last year!" Cas glanced up, catching all her pretty face and red haired glory.

"If someone in Burr, Kansas," he glanced up at her and paused, to add effect, "saw me walking around in a pink sweater, I would no doubt be harassed or questioned." She "ohhhed" in understanding and didn't comment any further on the subject.

"That's a pretty small town, right?" Balthazar leaned forward in his chair and eyed Cas curiously. "It's hard to believe that our big, rich, successful Cas came from such a small, insignificant place." He grinned and Cas shrugged, supposing he could see the logic in being skeptical.

After all, how many of his classmates had made it out? Had made something of themselves? Had gone beyond what was expected?

"Well, I think your parents deserve some respect for giving you the chance to get out of there," Anna voiced his thoughts. "It must have been pretty expensive to send you to school in Chicago. I'm sure they're ahead of the game compared to a lot of people in that town."

"Perhaps," Cas shrugged, zipping up his suitcases one by one now that he'd finally determined that he'd packed everything.

"You sound doubtful," Balthazar laughed shortly.

"My parents were wealthier than others," Cas confirmed. "But I wouldn't give them total credit for allowing me to, how do you say," he searched for the expression, "'spread my wings.'" Both Anna and Balthazar raised their eyebrows questioningly. "My father, is, after all, the pastor in a very small, secluded town."

Anna and Balthazar glanced quickly to each other, taking in his meaning knowingly.

"Of course," Balthazar laughed. "That's why they haven't met Michael."

"No, they haven't met me," they all looked to the door. A broad shouldered, smiling man in a clean-cut suit had walked in. He had chin length, wavy hair in the angelic color of copper-blonde. Truly, he was trim and fit in every way, and a shame to be gay, as Anna pointed out on many occasions. He walked right in and he and Cas shared in a short, meaningless kiss. "I understand however."

Cas eventually remembered to smile back, reminding himself that Michael needed assurance of his feelings – because he wasn't naturally inclined to express himself.

"You're here," was all Cas said in response, pushing a moderate amount of surprise into his voice.

"I skipped out on my last meeting," Michael explained. "I'm not going to see you for almost three weeks. The least I can do is drive you to the airport." He continued to smile that gorgeous grin and Cas allowed the corners of his lips to pull up slightly, if only to comfort his boyfriend of three years.

"I guess my services are no longer needed then," Balthazar was one of those people that had a constant smirk on his face. He'd also been the one that was originally going to take Cas to the airport.

"Looks that way," Michael laughed, the attitude of the room light despite the fact that Cas would be departing within the next few hours. "We should probably be going though, if you're ready."

Cas nodded and with the help of Anna, Balthazar, and Michael, they heaved all his luggage down via elevator and outside the apartment complex. Waiting at the curb was Michael's small SUV, the snowy landscape blending in with its creamy color. Loading everything in, Cas said short farewells to his two best friends, promising that he'd call since they'd expressed interest in him doing so.

Placing himself in the passenger seat, Michael got in the driver's and together they headed off down the slush littered Chicago street.

Michael cleared his throat.

"You going to meet up with anyone from your high school years while you're there?" Cas knew that Michael had a knack for casual conversation; he didn't like silences, so the quieter of the two tried to find something of interest to say.

"No," Cas's voice was as flat as always. "I didn't have very many friends in High School. And I haven't kept in touch with any of the ones I did have."

"I guess I don't have to worry too much then," Michael replied, Cas glancing over at him curiously. He winked. "About you getting involved with 'old flames.'"

Cas cocked a skeptical brow. "There are no 'flames' in Burr, Kansas," he made perfectly clear. "Of that you can be certain." Michael kept grinning, supposing that Cas meant such a comment in more ways than one.

**oOo**

"Just got a call in," Bobby said over his shoulder as he placed the dirty old phone back on the wall. "Some poor shmuck with a rental car coming into town. Broke down I guess." His voice was as gruff as ever, his bearded face giving him a rather rough appearance. Only Dean knew better. Bobby was a lot of talk and air. Much gentler than he'd ever admit.

"Guess I better go save him then," Dean grinned from where he stood over the hood of an old grand prix. Reaching toward the fender, he grabbed up a rag he had sitting there before wiping his grease-covered hands. Yet despite how he rubbed, the stains wouldn't go. They never did. And neither did the callouses.

Such was his life he supposed.

"Take the new truck," Bobby issued as he walked up under a van he had suspended in the air. "Old one's been soundin' a bit rough lately and I think there's a storm movin' in. Last thing I need to do is go save you and this idjit in the middle of a blizzard."

"Yes Sir," Dean replied with a mock solute as he dropped his rag to the floor. Going over to the wall, he searched through the organized keys they had hanging there before finding the ones to the new tow truck. "New" meaning it was only five years old as opposed to fifteen. "I'll be back in a little while," he assured as he passed Bobby heading out, the older man not even bothering with a reply. He was back on task.

He picked up the piece of paper by the phone where his boss had written the location.

Glancing up at the sky as he headed out, Dean did take note of the heavy blue clouds moving in, an obvious sign of snow on the way. Hopefully he'd be able to get out there, get this guy, and be back in before it hit. Once it did though, he knew he'd be busy. Didn't matter how small or big the town was, or how many snows these people had been through. There were always the idiots that ended up stranded and created a royal pain for him and Bobby.

Walking across the parking lot, he detoured his way around the cars sitting there until he reached the tow truck. Climbing in without a second thought, he started it up and headed on out down the road.

He turned the radio to the channel he preferred, the nearest classic rock station, before allowing himself to relax into the seat and set his mind on driving. Mindless driving. Because sometimes, a lot of the time, he just didn't want to think.

It made life easier to take.

He didn't know how many songs or commercials he went through, but eventually he found his way to the right place. Because ahead of him, sitting on the side of the road, was a clean, shining Nissan Altima – waiting and ready to be towed out of what dirty snow and slush remained from the last storm. Off on the other side of the road, back to Dean as he backed the tow truck up to the car, was a single man. He had a phone held up to his ear and had looked back quickly when Dean had arrived, but other than that had remained focused on his conversation.

He looked like the typical business type. Dressed in a long trench coat, black slacks, and similarly colored, shining dress shoes, he didn't exactly fit in with the Kansas countryside. The guy sported a stylish blue scarf for crying out loud. He was somewhat tall though, with mussed black hair. Probably only made so by the current situation.

Dean was  _totally_  looking forward to the ride back into the city. He rolled his eyes.

Climbing out of the tow truck once he'd backed up correctly, he didn't bother waiting for the guy to be done on the phone before he started looking the car over. Technically, he wasn't allowed to diagnose whatever was wrong with it (because it was a rental), but seeing as the suit-guy already had the hood up, he figured it wouldn't hurt.

Dressed in his stained blue coveralls from work, he fit right into the scene, a typical greasy mechanic doing what he did best. Which was probably why the gentleman with the phone didn't hesitate before coming over. Dean ignored him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, and was surprised when the silence stretched past comfortable levels.

Maybe this guy was a stuck up snob. Well, he could keep his lips closed just as well as the rest of them.

Thus, the quiet continued. Dean was stubborn and, continuing to delve into the car, he made sure to wait until his customer spoke first.

Which, eventually, he did.

"I don't understand what happened," he said rather abruptly, Dean taken aback by the deepness of his voice. So not only was he a businessman, but apparently puberty had given him a healthy dose of man as well. Probably pretty popular with the ladies. "I was driving and then all of a sudden the gages were high. I shut it off after a moment, but I don't know what went wrong."

Didn't have any knowledge about cars though. That was a minus in Dean's book.

"Looks like the water levels are low," Dean explained, still closely examining the car. "Probably blew the engine."

"What?" the man sounded very serious. "But I… I didn't…"

"It's probably not your fault," Dean assured with a slight chuckle, finally pulling back out of the car as he wiped his hands on his pants. "It's the rental place that's responsible for this kind of stuff. I… wouldn't worry… about… it…"

Finally their eyes met.

Blue on green once again.

"Cas…?" It was too late, Dean couldn't stop the name from erupting between his lips. But those blue eyes – he'd know them anywhere. Even back in high school, when he'd watched his classmates bring him down, those blue eyes had shone through rebelliously. They knew things. So many things. Things Dean would never know.

Beyond him.

"Dean Winchester," Cas's voice, that deep, deep voice, came through again, shocking Dean all the same. All he said was his name however, which didn't exactly usurp the gracelessness of the situation. Yet still Dean continued to be out of control of his mouth.

"Son of bitch…" he murmured, somewhat gaping as he looked the man before him up and down. It was hard to believe this guy was Cas. He was so broad and tall and… swarthy. Granted, he wasn't as tall as Dean, but still.

"Excuse me?" Cas replied a few seconds later, Dean's head finally catching up with his lips.

"What?" He blinked. "Oh, no, not you," he covered hastily. "I was just… it's been a long time since I've seen you, is all…" And here he was, his name plastered to his greasy coveralls. No further in life than he had been during high school. Yet Cas was wearing dress clothes driving a rental car.

Perfect.

"Ten years," Cas verified despite the fact that Dean didn't actually need the refresher course. But in bringing up the time gap, both their minds were immediately drawn back to the last time they'd seen each other. Up in Dean's bedroom.

It didn't help the situation any.

Dean cleared his throat.

"Well, look at you," he forced a slight, awkward smile onto his face. "All dressed up…" Damn, he was really nailing this one on the head.

Cas glanced down at his clothes. "Not really," and his eyes were back on those green ones. Yet with that unfortunate response, Dean was reminded of how socially inept Cas had been during high school. Never knowing or understanding public intricacies. He was guessing, at this point, that not much about such had changed.

"More dressed up than me," Dean added. "In any case."

"You're working," Cas stated. "It's only reasonable that you be dressed in the appropriate clothing mandatory of 'Bobby's Shop.'" He said it all with a completely straight face, Dean pursing his lips and taking the hit with only a slight altering of his expression.

"Right, of course." At least Cas hadn't brought up the fact that he was working at the same place he'd been during high school.

"It has changed however," Cas continued. "The uniform, since the last time I saw you."

Never mind.

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" he cringe-grinned. "Bobby's always fashion forward."

The eyebrows above those blue eyes furrowed, Cas cocking his head to the side in a questioning manner. Dean shook his head.

"Well," he turned back toward the car, "I'm going to get this baby hooked up," he slammed the hood back down, "and then we can be on our way." Nodding once more to Cas, he distracted himself with hooking the car up to the tow truck, his thoughts running a million miles a minute. Cas, by contrast, stood to the side, staring blankly – totally unreadable.

Dean tried to come up with things they could talk about, because the drive back was at least forty-five minutes, but nothing aside from that day ten years ago was coming to mind. And, well, that was _quite_  out of the question.

And so, with the front end of the Nissan pulled up off the ground, Dean leaned in and made sure the rental was in neutral, which it hadn't been, before he turned back to Cas. He didn't say anything however, instead simply gesturing that it was time to go. Nodding once, the other man made it into the passenger side of the truck before Dean climbed in on the driver's.

And so they set out on the Kansas road.

Dean held back sighing.

The first few minutes were absolutely silent, which honestly didn't bother Dean that much. Generally when he towed someone that also required a ride, they didn't say a whole lot of anything. He focused on driving and they stared out the window. But with Cas there was this obvious blanket of discomfort, which spurred Dean to try and cut through it.

"So, you here for the holidays then?" he asked suddenly. Despite how the sound of his voice startled himself however, Cas merely glanced slowly over, face totally empty. Dean didn't even know if he was considering the question. Maybe he still hated him. Dean wouldn't exactly blame him if he did.

"Yes," Cas replied a few moments later. And that was all he said.

"Normally come every year?" Because, if he did, then Dean was honestly surprised it'd taken ten years for them to bump into each other. Small town and everything.

"No," Cas was staring out the front windshield. "I normally fly my parents to Chicago. But my father had knee surgery a few weeks ago and couldn't make the trip." And he said it all with no emotion whatsoever. Which, aside from the deep voice, didn't surprise Dean at all.

"You live in Chicago then." Dean raised his eyebrows in approval only quickly. "I can see that. You really made it," he flicked his gaze to Cas only quickly before going back to the road. "What do you do there?"

"I'm a graphic designer," Cas replied. "A web designer to be more accurate. I hold a senior position." Because apparently that last part was supposed to mean something, or so Dean figured.

"So… that's a pretty good gig then, I gather…"

"It's appropriate," Cas replied, considering the question only quickly in an attempt to dissect Dean's interest. "My annual salary is now nearing 80k, so I can't complain."

"Eighty…?!" Dean sputtered, his eyes bugging wide. "Eighty-thousand… wow." That last was murmured. He was lucky if he pulled in 20k a year. Let alone eighty. What was the most impressive to Dean, however, wasn't the number, but the fact that in ten short years, Cas had made it up to that much already. He must be good at what he does. "I bet a Nissan Altima isn't what you drive at home," he was trying to make a joke, lighten the mood maybe.

"No," Cas stated simply. "I'm currently leasing a CL-Class Coupe. A Mercedes-Benz." And all Dean could think was "Of course you are." It was probably a little cruel, both to himself and Cas, but the next thing that came to his mind was "how the mighty have fallen."

He couldn't think of anything to say after that. What was there to say? The kid he and his buddies had tormented and tortured all through high school was now the big man in town. Rich; put-together. And Dean was still a mechanic. What did he even say to this person? Especially after he'd opened himself up to Dean so poignantly…

"It's blue," Cas eventually added, as if that should mean something, before he finally looked over at Dean. The driver of the vehicle chose to ignore the look however, pursing his lips and wondering if, should he have had the guts to catch that stare, he would see gloating.

He wouldn't blame him.

Cas, however, had no intention of rubbing his fortune in Dean's face. Rather, he was mostly just curious. He could see, because he'd spent a good chunk of the last ten years forcing himself to become accustomed to reading people's expressions, that Dean was uncomfortable. Which, he supposed, was justified. For both of them.

What he didn't understand, however, was why Dean Winchester, of all the people he'd gone to high school with, was the one towing his car into town. No, Dean hadn't been the smartest person in their class, but certainly not the dumbest either. And he had horrific amounts of charisma, which was half the battle (as Cas had painfully learned. And still was). He should, by all rights, be further along than this.

He just didn't get it.

Cas looked back to the window.

"You can ask you know," Dean started then, serious, and Cas whipped back around to stare at him. "Why I'm still working for Bobby. I know you want to. I can see it all over your face." He smirked before focusing back on the road. Cas, however, was shocked that Dean had been able to read him so well. Michael, his friends, they were always going on about how they never knew what he was thinking. Which was why he'd learned to explain himself.

Dean had read him without any assistance however. Maybe he'd just been being more obvious than usual.

"Your place of work is none of my concern," Cas answered honestly. "I don't know you well enough to ask anything about it. Or so I've figured based on the situation." In other words, he may be curious, but he'd learned that there were certain questions he wasn't allowed to ask. Progress was progress, Dean supposed.

"The answer wouldn't be that exciting anyway," Dean replied gruffly, Cas having glanced back to the window. "Nothing you'd want to know about." Because Cas had this great life now. Away from Kansas and his high school days. He didn't care about Dean anymore, not like he had at one time, apparently.

Only Dean had no idea how curious Cas suddenly was. Yet despite how he wanted to inquire, he kept reminding himself that it'd be rude to do so. This was his first time back in Burr in ten years. He wasn't going to sully it by falling back into his old habits. He wasn't that boy anymore. The one that didn't understand personal boundaries. He knew better.

He wouldn't ask.

And so, silence fell upon them.

After a few minutes, Dean reached forward and turned up the radio.

Nothing else was said for the remainder of the trip.

**oOo**

They pulled into Bobby's shop just as snow was beginning to fall. Towing the car around to the back, Dean didn't bother putting it anyplace special. The rental company would be out to pick it up within a few days. No point in worrying over it. Instead, jumping from the truck, he waited until Cas had done the same before gesturing his old classmate inside. Heading to the front counter, he started to make the charge calculations as Cas waited on the other side.

"So," Dean was looking through Bobby's cheat sheets and using a calculator since his boss still hadn't invested in a computer, "looks like your total is going to come to around $200." He glanced up at Cas, not terribly ashamed of charging him full price. Guy was loaded after all.

Not at all fazed by the money, Cas reached into his jacket pocket, presumably to pull out his wallet, and was struck wide-eyed a few moments later. He continued to fish around in his pocket. Then he started to check all the others on his person.

Dean cocked a single brow.

"My wallet…" Cas murmured, finally looking up at Dean with those shocked blue eyes. "It's in my suitcase…"

"So go get it," Dean was assuming his stuff was in the car.

"All my luggage was lost on the flight here…"

Dean almost laughed. Almost. Mostly because if Cas had lost his luggage and had his car break down, well, he wasn't having a very fantastic day. He was hiding any distress or bad mood well however. Dean wouldn't have suspected.

"Wait," brows furrowed. "How did you rent a car if you don't have any money?" He honestly wasn't all that concerned about the charge. Not that Cas knew that.

"I had it pre-paid…" Cas explained blankly. "I only needed my ID." He then pulled his license out of his pocket and placed it on the counter. As well as a crumpled up twenty-dollar bill and a red and white mint candy. "This is all I have…"

"Well," Dean clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Looks like you're just going to have to pay for it the old fashioned way." Cas's eyes were wide, his mouth falling open ever so slowly. "Ever work in a garage before? I think I've got a uniform that will fit you."

"But…" Cas looked honestly scared now and Dean had to purse his lips to stop himself from laughing. "I don't know anything about cars." He was actually going to do it. "I… I can't-"

"Dude, I'm kidding," Dean finally cleared up when he couldn't take that deer-in-the-headlights look anymore. Cas really  _hadn't_  changed that much, at least not personality wise. He was just as easy as he'd ever been. "It's okay. I'm not going to make you into a grease monkey. Just, when you get your luggage back or whatever, come in and pay it." He raised his eyebrows warningly. "Which you better do, because I'm going out on a limb for you here."

"Right, of course," Cas assured quickly. "I'll come in as soon as I can." He was obviously relieved, his shoulders deflating, and Dean couldn't help smirking. "Thank you Dean."

"No problem," he assured. "It's not like I don't owe you or anything…" That last hadn't come out on purpose and as soon as it had, Dean clamped his mouth shut. Cas, by contrast, flicked his eyes to the side, the memory of their high school years tripping across both their brains.

Dean cleared his throat.

"Anyway, thank you Castiel for your business and please, whenever you have car trouble, think of Bobby's Shop first." He smiled – bitterly.

"It's Cas," he was corrected right away. Dean had called him "Cas" earlier out of old habit, but Castiel was his full name. One that Dean had often times failed to use. It was because of him that, during their youths, everyone had addressed the awkward young man as such. "Everyone calls me Cas."

"Oh… okay…" Dean wasn't sure whether to be saddened that his nickname had stuck or flattered. Because when Cas had left, he would have had to tell other people to call him such.

Or maybe someone else had given him the same nickname.

"I'll take my leave now," Cas decided after a moment. "Thank you for your help and generosity. I'll be sure to pay you as soon as possible." Dean nodded, having nothing else to say on the matter, and Cas turned away. He headed toward the door. It was at about this time however that another dilemma occurred to both of them.

"So Cas," Dean addressed him from behind the counter. "How you planning on getting to… wherever it is you're going?"

"I was just wondering that myself," he replied, back still to Dean, who laughed silently to himself. Eventually Cas turned back and came to the counter however, apparently looking for some kind of solution.

"Here, how about this," Dean started after a second. "I'll give you a lift to wherever you're going. It can't be that far. And instead of paying me, you can just promise to take your wallet," he looked Cas up and down, "and a carryon on planes from now on, alright?" He just couldn't stop grinning.

"Fine," Cas gave in easily enough, sounding moderately irritated (probably because he was getting tired of being made fun of). He did it to himself though, or so Dean reasoned. After all, if the guy wasn't even going to think this far ahead, he was practically walking into the sarcasm.

But that was Cas.

"Just let me go tell Bobby," Dean stated before turning and heading through a door behind the counter, which no doubt led into the garage. Cas, allowing his irritation to simmer, reminded himself that he shouldn't get so worked up. This was Dean Winchester after all, who'd always had a knack for pressing all of Cas's buttons. Like he knew just what to say to get what was usually a levelheaded man irrational.

A few moments later, Dean reemerged and headed back out into the parking lot with Cas, where the snow had begun to fall heavily. The weather had arrived it would seem. The two ignored it however, Dean bulldozing across the parking lot and Cas following at his heels. His car, however, was easy, even for his old classmate, to locate.

"You're still driving the Impala," Cas observed in slight surprise as they approached. He remembered the car of course. It was part of the reason the entire female population of their high school had been infatuated with Dean. Attractive, worked part-time at Bobby's shop, and owned the coolest car in the school.

Everyone had known the Impala.

"Yup," Dean grinned as he rounded the driver's side, his hand sliding lovingly along the shining black body as he did. "Wouldn't give her up for anything." Cas was listening over the top of the car, staring at Dean as he spoke. It was for this reason that he saw the sadness that suddenly dropped across Dean's expression. Emotion that was gone just as quickly as it'd come before he caught Cas's eyes. "It was my father's after all."

With another of those award-winning grins, he ducked inside the car.

Pulling open the passenger side door, Cas was about to do the same, but paused just before he did. He stared down at the black upholstery, considering exactly what he was about to do. This was the Impala. Dean Winchester's Impala. And he, Castiel, was just about to get inside it. To actually take a ride in it.

What did that even  _mean_?

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Cas ignored the way his head overanalyzed and instead forced his body to sink down into the car. Slamming the door closed behind him, he tried to hide his discomfort, but knew he was failing as his blue eyes darted around nervously. As his nose took in the smell of old leather and Dean.

Dean Winchester's  _car_.

"You okay?" His voice punctured Cas's senses and he glanced quickly up. To those pretty green eyes.

"Yes," he replied almost too quickly, taking a deep breath in order to calm his nerves. His high school nerves, which had come back out of nowhere to rear their ugly heads. "I just… never imagined I'd be riding in this car… is all…" It was very, very strange.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, I get that." After all, though they didn't talk about it, there was no use denying the history they had. Were it ten years prior, Dean would have put himself in harm's way before he'd let Castiel Novak ride in his car. But… things changed.

People changed.

Putting the keys into the ignition, Dean didn't comment further on the subject. Instead, he asked Cas where they were going, to which he was told that they were heading to the Novak's place. He knew where that was – he'd tepeed it plenty of times in his younger days – and didn't inquire further.

Instead, as they backed out of his parking spot, he glanced over and watched Cas. The way he was examining the car. The leather interior; the old, worn creases. He ran his fingers along the lines, quite unaware that Dean was watching him within those short moments.

Driving pulled attention however and, punching the car into drive, Dean whipped it skillfully through the parking lot before turning it to the road. And with sudden desire, he glanced both ways down the street before punching the gas in just the right way to cause the tires to scream.

Squealing out of the shop, he was granted those wide, startled blue eyes as they peeled down the road. And only Bobby, who'd heard the car loudly escaping the shop, wondered why in the world Dean had decided to show off.

"Do you always drive so recklessly?" Cas asked almost immediately, defensively, and Dean laughed.

"Well, I figured, if you're getting the chance to ride in Dean Winchester's Impala," he was smirking. Again. "Then you might as well get the whole experience." Cas cast him an un-amused stare, apparently not appreciating the notion nearly as much as Dean.

The car surged onward.

It took only minutes for them to reach Cas's old neighborhood. And even less to get to his parents' house. The luxuries of a small town.

Pulling up into the driveway of the quaint, white paneled, two story house, Dean came to a stop about halfway down the drive. If there was to be an awkward silence where neither of them could decide when to get out, or whether to say something, it was interrupted when Naomi Novak appeared outside the front door.

She had a very curious look on her face, mostly because everyone knew that the black Impala belonged to Dean Winchester. She just couldn't figure out why it was sitting in her driveway. Thus, the two men exited without a single word to each other.

"Castiel!" His mother's voice echoed across the yard. She didn't rush down to him in any kind of stereotypical motherly fashion however. No, Naomi was dignified. She walked briskly, dressed in a pair of slacks and a nice blouse, and smiled as she approached. She was, after all, the pastor's wife. "Oh, Castiel. I'm so glad you're here."

She gave him a brisk, meaningful hug and Dean leaned back against the front of his car, arms crossed over his chest.

"I hope you got towed safely," she stated, able to put the pieces together as to why Dean had been the one to bring him home. Her gaze went to the mechanic. "Thank you Dean, I appreciate you getting my son here in one piece. It  _has_  been ten years since he's been home after all." She then looked almost pointedly, accusingly, at Cas.

"Anytime Mrs. Novak," Dean assured as he pushed himself up off his car. "Happy holidays." With that, he waved and nodded once to Cas, who returned the gesture as Dean climbed into his car. Soon he was backing out of the driveway, Naomi and Cas watching as he did.

"That poor boy," Naomi eventually made a point of saying while the Impala headed on down the road. At her comment, Cas glanced down at her curiously. And, seeing as she'd raised him, she was able to gather what the expression meant and why he was using it.

"Dean Winchester," she explained, turning and heading back to the house. Cas followed closely behind. "You probably didn't hear about it, since you'd just started school in Chicago. But, I think it was that November, John and Mary Winchester, his and Sam's parents-" she paused and turned to look at Cas again, the two of them standing on the porch. "You remember Sam?"

"Dean's younger brother, yes," he nodded.

"Well, they'd been going somewhere. It was terrible weather. In any case, there was an accident and they both passed away." Cas's eyes popped. How had he not known about this? But he knew the answer to that. When he'd left, he'd taken great pains not to have anything to do with Burr. And definitely not with Dean Winchester. "Dean, I guess, had been going to school across the state, but moved back when it happened.

"He quit school," she took a deep breath. "Came home and got his job back with Bobby. Had to take care of Sam." Cas's mouth fell open ever so slightly. "He supported his brother all through high school, even sent him off to college. From what I hear, Sam Winchester is in graduate school now, at Harvard. Going to be a lawyer.

"But Dean," she clicked her tongue, shaking her head as though disappointed. "Even after Sam moved out, he didn't go back. I don't know if he just didn't have the means or what. He's just been working at Bobby's. No school, nothing.

"It's a pity," she glanced up at Cas. "A bright boy like that, handed what he was. Maybe he just doesn't have the will to start over." She turned and headed toward the door. "A sad, sad ending, but everything happens for a reason…"

Cas, mouth still hanging open slightly, glanced back out to the road, where Dean had driven off. Eyebrows furrowed, he considered what his mother had just told him, the words echoing in his skull.

Guilt, a feeling he didn't understand and couldn't explain, dropped down on him. He just couldn't believe it, that something so horrible had happened. Because his mother was right, Dean had been headed in a good direction. He'd thought the same thing that very day.

But now he knew what had happened. Now he knew why.

Now he 'got it.'

Dean Winchester.


	3. No Strings

"You'll never guess who I ran into today," Dean started, his cell phone held between his ear and shoulder. He was standing in his room, shucking off his coveralls in preparation for changing into something more comfortable and fixing himself some dinner.

"Who?" Sam asked on the other side of the line, Dean practically able to see how his little brother's eyebrows had furrowed.

"Castiel Novak." Dean didn't realize he was grinning.

"What? Really?!" Sam sounded just as astounded as Dean had been earlier that day, when he'd realized that the suited-up guy was Cas. "You mean, the same Castiel that..." he paused, "that told you he was  _in love_  with you when you graduated?"

"One and the same," Dean verified, kicking his dirty uniform across the room.

"Wow…" Sam allowed a deep breath to leave his lungs. "You should apologize."

"What?"

"I'm serious," Sam countered. "You were kind of a dick to the poor guy." Dean pursed his lips, slipping off his old jeans before pulling up a pair of sweats. He decided to leave the dirty t-shirt. "I mean, think about it. Think about where we grew up. That couldn't have been easy to do."

"I know that," Dean snapped, heading out into his kitchen where a bacon and cheese sandwich was waiting on the counter for him. "But what am I supposed to say? 'Oh, hey Cas, by the way, remember when you told me you were in love with me, and I freaked out and called you a fag? Yeah, sorry about that.'"

"Um, yeah, that is what you say," Sam replied flatly and Dean rolled his eyes before sitting down at his old kitchen table. He began to unwrap his dinner. "I'm just saying, I know you feel guilty about it. So why not clear the air? The worst that can happen is that he not accept your apology."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean replied, not giving a straight answer one way or another on what he was going to do. Sam sighed and his older brother changed the subject. "So when do you think you're going to be in?"

"Uh, probably on Friday." It was currently Monday. "I have a whole bunch of papers to finish, so I can't leave earlier." He sounded guilty, so Dean quickly swooped in to assure him.

"That sounds fine," he started. "You do what you have to do. School always comes first, you know that."

Pause.

"You know," Sam cleared his throat. "It'd be nice if you could take some of your own advice." Dean frowned, lowering the sandwich he'd been about to bite into back to the table.

"Sammy, we've been over this," Dean didn't mean to growl. "I'm fine doing what I'm doing. Don't worry about me. You focus on you."

"You're not fine Dean," Sam hissed. "You can't work at Bobby's forever. If you'd just apply and-"

"Sam, just stop," Dean said firmly. "There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing now. Besides, I can't get in anywhere anyway. I couldn't even do that in high school. I was barely making it through community college when Mom and Dad died. So just… let it go."

"No," Sam replied stubbornly. "I know there's 'nothing wrong' with working for Bobby, but you're not giving yourself enough credit. I know you can-"

"Sam!" Dean said it a little louder than he'd originally anticipated. "Just drop it, alright?" The line fell silent, Dean staring down at his sandwich with pursed lips. There current conversation came up only every so often, usually around the time of the holidays. And every year, Dean had to put a stop to it. As he'd just done.

Sam sighed. "You should apologize to that Castiel guy," he resumed saying. "You'll feel better about it, I know."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll work on that," Dean replied, the tension leaving the conversation as they got back onto less controversial matters.

**oOo**

Thankful that everything had been safely intact inside his suitcases when the airport had dropped them at his parents' house, Cas continued his walk down the sidewalk. The weather the night before had left a fair amount of snow on the ground, but the storm hadn't been nearly as severe as everyone had expected. Already the roads were clear and the sidewalks shoveled. Thus, dressed in his black pea coat, yellow V-neck sweater, and black slacks with matching oxfords, he was barely hindered at all on his trip.

After all, though Dean had given him a ride the day before, the distance between his parents' house and Bobby's Shop was barely anything more than what Cas walked in Chicago on a regular basis. Maybe half an hour or so. His mother had offered him her car, but Cas needed the exercise.

And, honestly, a longer break from his parents. Yes, he loved them, but they, he and them, were very different from one another. There were many things they didn't know about his life. Things they'd never know. Why? Because Cas valued his relationship with his parents more than he did his desire for civil equality. He desperately wanted the latter, but he knew his parents lived in a small Kansas bubble. He wasn't about to burst that and destroy their little world as they knew it.

He was their only son after all.

Turning a corner, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, thankful when he found his wallet safely there. Dean had been right, he'd been silly to pack his wallet in his luggage. He'd thought he'd been being safe, but now he saw how foolish that'd been. But he didn't fly that often, so he could forgive his own ignorance. He'd know better next time. And bring a carryon despite how hampering he found them.

Spotting Bobby's Shop up ahead, Cas quickened his pace, his heart jumping for reasons he couldn't explain. Ignoring the sensation, he glanced down only quickly to make sure he was totally presentable before turning into the drive and heading across the parking lot toward the main building.

Reaching the front door, he pushed it in, about to go in without a second thought.

That was, until he saw that tall silhouette standing at the counter before him.

With a rush he hadn't expected, all his worst high school memories came flooding back. Striking across his vision with a viciousness he hadn't realized they possessed. And all of them, every single one, had the same thing in common. One person. One man.

Raphael.

The silhouette, his back to Cas, that stood before the counter.

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

"I know you'll do a good job with it," Raphael was saying to Dean, who was standing on the other side of the counter, his focus on a piece of paper he was filling out. "Can't say I'm happy I have to bring it in, but nothing I can do about that." His deep voice was resonating in a place inside Cas that he'd thought he'd closed up forever.

Something akin to fear started to rise up inside him, remnants from his youth.

"Yeah, it shouldn't be too big a deal," Dean replied, finally glancing up from his paperwork. "It should be done sometime…" he faltered only quickly, spotting Cas in the doorway behind Raphael, "in the next few days. I'll be sure to give you call. I just need you to sign this." He pushed the paperwork forward, handing Raphael a pen.

Distracted now looking down at the papers, Raphael wasn't paying attention to Dean as he glanced again to Cas. This time however, lips tight, Dean nodded his head to the left, flicking his eyes that way as well.

He was gesturing to something. He'd made it obvious enough.

Glancing to the side, Cas immediately recognized where Dean was gesturing. Wasting no time, he entered the building completely, making sure the door closed behind him before skirting his way to the side. There, on the other side of a stack of tires, was a slight nook. A corner where, when Cas stood behind it, no one else in the room could see him.

He let out a relieved sigh.

"There, that ought to do it," Raphael was saying, Cas listening and remaining as silent as humanly possible. He heard some papers being shuffled back across the counter.

"Looks good to me," Dean verified with a huff. "I'll call you if anything else comes up."

"Nah, don't bother," Raphael laughed lightly. "I trust you to do what needs to be done Dean, and not charge me a penny over." Apparently the two were still on good terms. Cas couldn't say he was surprised. They had been "best buds" during high school. "Hey, so did you hear?" Raphael changed the subject.

"Hear what?" Dean sounded only moderately interested.

"Apparently, Castiel Novak is back in town," Raphael explained, Cas's blood running cold. This town really was quite too,  _too_  small. "He hasn't showed his face around here in years. Bet he hasn't changed a bit." Cas was pretty sure he sensed excitement in that speech. The ominous, nauseating kind. Why was it that it'd been ten years since high school and nothing had changed in Burr?

"I heard, yeah," Dean replied, his speech a little colder than it had been before. "Why do you ask?"

"I just wonder if we'll see him is all," Raphael replied easily, unaware of how Dean's attitude had changed. Cas too found he was surprised at the change in Dean, and comforted as well. "It'd be just like the good ole' days." An idea that made Cas's eyes widen, nerves spiking.

The "good ole' days" had never been "good" to him.

"Yeah, right," Dean replied, a forced laugh leaving his lips. He didn't comment further on the subject.

"Well, I'll see ya later Dean," there was a slamming noise, like Raphael had slapped his hand on the counter. "Keep an eye out for Cassie, alright? I'd like to see him again." Cas closed his eyes against the anxiety. He could also make out the sound of footsteps, Raphael heading for the exit, and within a few moments the door to the building banged closed. Cas still didn't come out however, instead listening as another set of footsteps headed in the same direction. Slowly peeking out, he saw that it was Dean, dressed in his dirty coveralls. He was leaning against the door, watching out the window. A few moments later, he took a step back before turning in Cas's direction.

"He's gone," he verified coldly, Cas releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Coming out from behind the corner, he caught Dean's green eyes, surprised at the empathy imbedded inside them. Now his fear was gone however, which made him see the whole picture in a different light.

Cas frowned.

"That was ridiculous," he decided as he came fully out into the open, Dean crossing his arms over his chest as he listened. "It's been ten years. I shouldn't still be afraid of him." He was a grown man, not a helpless little boy anymore. Things like high school bullies shouldn't affect him at all.

"Yeah, you probably should," Dean replied seriously, the tone of his voice taking Cas somewhat aback. "Raphael is the same asshole he's always been. Don't think that just because  _we_  matured, he did. Not everybody grows up." Cas could take his meaning. Raphael had done more than torment him when he was younger. He'd made a habit of beating on him whenever the situation had allowed. Apparently the same ideas still stood.

Thankfully, Cas had taken quite a few martial arts classes after he'd graduated, spurred by his history of getting beat on. So long as he could keep his high school nerves in check, then he should be able to at least stand a chance against Raphael.

"It's not just that either," Dean continued gruffly, walking across the room until he was behind the counter again. Cas watched him the whole way. "Raphael hasn't become any more tolerant since then either, so you'd do good to be careful. He seems to think he has reason enough to hate you already. Don't add to it."

"I don't understand," Cas admitted, going up to the counter. Dean had glanced up at him, his lips pursing. It didn't matter how long he stared at Cas however, he was still going to have to explain more thoroughly.

"Dude, you're gay," Dean finally just stated, his outright reference causing Cas's eyes to flutter wider. He hadn't expected such a blatant comment from Dean. " _I_  know that, but he doesn't. You're not in Chicago anymore, so don't think you're invincible or protected or shit. Raphael will rip you apart." Dean decided not to comment on the way Cas was dressed despite the announcement it made about his sexuality, at least in Burr, Kansas. Because a V-neck sweater? Really? Plus, he didn't particularly want to explain away his observations of Cas's attire.

Nodding in understanding, Cas acknowledged what Dean was saying, supposing he was right. Yet, at the same time, something occurred to him. Something he'd never thought to consider before.

"You never told anyone," Cas observed quietly, Dean's green eyes blinking back at him.

He didn't have to say anything else however. Dean knew exactly what he was talking about. He just wasn't quite sure what he was going to say in response. Mostly because it was true. Ten years ago, when he'd still been an ignorant teenager, he'd made the decision not to tell anyone (other than Sam, which didn't count) what Cas had said to him. None of his friends; no one. He'd kept it to himself the whole time.

Which, when considering who he'd been all those years ago, was quite shocking.

"Of course not," Dean finally replied, though his voice was a little lower than he would have liked. He tried not to allow his embarrassment to leak through, to splash any pink across his cheeks. "That would have been a real shitty thing to do."

"That never stopped you before," Cas pointed out bluntly, making the conversation harder and harder for Dean. But Cas wasn't Sam; he couldn't tell him to shut up and change the subject just because it was getting a little personal. Especially if he wanted Cas to have a better opinion of him.

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged, trying to find something reasonable to draw his gaze and failing. "Things change." Not that quickly. Not right after Cas admitted his feelings to him as two seventeen year olds. If Dean had been a normal high school graduate, he'd have told all his friends what that "freak" Castiel had told him. Raphael would know.

Cas didn't understand. Which was obvious to Dean as those blue eyes stared into him, dark eyebrows furrowing above.

Dean had to think of something to say.

"Look," he started firmly, forcing his eyes to harden. "I'm not delusional, alright? I know I was an ass to you in high school, probably a lot of other people too. That doesn't mean it's impossible to change. I'm sorry for what I did, which is why I didn't tell anyone." That last was a bit rushed, as if he was trying to convince himself, and Cas didn't entirely buy it. There just wasn't enough time for Dean to have learned his lesson, have "turned over a new leaf." Not between when Cas had told him he was in love with him and when he should have gossiped with his friends.

It wasn't adding up.

"That's not all," Dean continued after a moment of silence, though this time the tone of his voice had dropped considerably. He wasn't looking at Cas either. Actually, it was more like he was actively avoiding his gaze, which only perplexed Cas further.

"There's something else I want to apologize for." He couldn't believe Sam had talked him into this. "That day, when you… came up to my room right before graduation." It was obviously hard for him to get this out, Cas could see that. And it equally as uncomfortable for him to hear it. He honestly hadn't expected he and Dean Winchester would ever be talking about this again.

It'd been such a long time ago.

"What you said to me, it took a lot of guts," Dean continued, still unable to take Cas's gaze, which was probably better for both of them. "I was stupid, and young. And ignorant." He grinned bitterly. "And I reacted badly." Finally, taking a deep breath, Dean pulled those green eyes back up to meet Cas's blue. "I called your something I shouldn't have. I was… an asshole." Cas was listening with wide-open, shocked ears. "And I always wanted to say I'm sorry." Finally he couldn't hold back the embarrassment anymore. Forcing himself to glance back down at the counter again, he tried to hide the redness on his cheeks, but it was near impossible.

This was one of the un-manliest moments of his life, of that he was convinced.

And because he was too busy tripping over his own emasculating shame, he failed to see how Cas's shock slowly dissolved into soft understanding. He didn't see the way Cas's lips momentarily pulled into something akin to a smile before fading just as well. He didn't see any of it.

"It's alright," his deep voice couldn't be hidden from Dean's ears however. "I forgive you." His easy response did finally draw Dean's attention. Whipping his gaze back up to Cas's, he couldn't hide his gape. His astonishment. "I forgave you as soon as you said it," Cas finished.

"What?" Dean shook his head slightly, not comprehending. "How can you say that? I was… horrible to you, then and in high school. I-"

"You never laid a hand on me Dean," Cas replied, his voice soft despite it's gravelly nature. "You never did anything."

"Exactly," Dean continued. "I never  _did_  anything. I just…watched as Raphael beat the shit out of you." Cas's eyes fell to the counter. "As he… humiliated you. I could have stopped it." Which was true. He'd held the clout, the respect. He'd just been too afraid of losing his own reputation.

"It's okay Dean," Cas allowed that small, barely there smile to pull at his lips again. "I told you I forgave you."

"But why?" Dean was leaning forward intently, his palms flat against the counter as he searched Cas's eyes for answers. To help him understand. "You should hate me."

"I never hated you Dean," Cas's gaze fell to the side again. "I could never do that."

"Why not?" Dean asked almost harshly, his teeth gritting. This was obviously very important to him, Cas realized; that was, comprehending the reasons. But Cas didn't really have any. It was what it was. But he knew Dean wouldn't be satisfied until he had an answer, perhaps to ease his guilt, so Cas tried to find him one.

"Because," Cas twitched his blue eyes back to Dean's. "You forgive your first love anything."

And Dean had nothing to say.

He was speechless. Literally, his lips were clamped shut and no words would come. Because how could he honestly respond to that? What could he possibly say that would match those words in any kind of way? Cas wasn't forgiving him because he'd had time to get over it, or because he understood that teenagers were idiots and not everyone could be judged by their pasts. No, none of that mattered. He was forgiving him unconditionally. No strings attached; nothing.

Guy was a fucking saint.

Or Dean's saint, in any case.

Cas could tell, however, that Dean would never be able to find anything so say. So he decided to take over the exchange. "I came to pay for the tow," he tried to change the subject, to get back to a place where Dean's voice would be. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet before removing his debit card. Sliding it across the counter, he did as much as he could to help Dean along with the process.

"Right," Dean eventually sputtered, glancing down at the card before taking it. Going to the register, it was clear he was still rather distracted as he ran it through, saying nothing as he did. And Cas stood at the counter, looking straight ahead and as blank as ever.

Dean tried to pull himself together.

"I'm glad my good faith wasn't wasted," he attempted a grin as he handed Cas's card back to him. "It went through without a problem."

"Of course it did," Cas replied, his voice not of arrogance, but merely as if he was stating the obvious. Dean couldn't help the small smirk that tugged across his lips.

"Well, here's your receipt," he handed him the small piece of paper. "Just in case something else goes awry." A reference to Cas's bad luck since he'd arrived in Kansas. Not that Cas probably caught the reference.

"Hopefully nothing will," was all he said. "Thank you, again, for all your help." Those blue were as penetrating as ever. "Happy holidays Dean."

"Yeah, same to you." And as Cas turned away, heading back out the door, a sudden thought struck Dean. Harder than he'd ever have anticipated.

Cas disappeared outside, and Dean realized there was a good chance he'd never see him again.

**oOo**

Cas hadn't expected to find any company present when he'd returned home. But as he walked through the door, his ears picked up on a familiar voice. One that rang from a time that was both far off yet still haunting him.

Turning the corner into his old dining room, he saw his mother sitting at the end of the table. And next to her was a bearded, skinny man dressed in a worn button-up shirt.

Cas recognized him immediately as Chuck Shurley.

His best friend from high school.

"Castiel!" his mother spotted him as soon as he'd walked in. "You're back. She stood, smiling shortly as she then glanced back to Chuck. "Chuck just stopped by," he stood awkwardly to his feet. "He must have heard you were in town."

"Hello Chuck," Cas nodded to his old friend, who waved rather nervously. But that was generally his normal disposition, so Cas didn't think anything of it.

"Oh, you two haven't seen each other in so long," Naomi said. "I'm going to go take care of some church business. Why don't you two catch up?" Without another word, she turned and headed out of the room, Cas left to deal with the discomfort that came with talking to a friend he hadn't seen in the last ten years.

Not that it really mattered much. Most situations where Cas was involved were uncomfortable.

"Oh man, Castiel," Chuck rounded the table to stand directly before his old friend. They were about the same height now, which was new. Chuck had always been the taller one. Cas had been the skinny one. And Samandriel had been the gullible one. Though they'd all been pretty gullible.

"It's been a long ti-"

Chuck came right up to him and gave him the tightest hug he'd had in quite a while, Cas so surprised that he was unable to return the gesture before Chuck had backed away again.

"Look at you!" Chuck was smiling, looking him up and down. "Just look at  _you_." He was obviously impressed. "You're so… mannish." It was an odd thing to say, but Chuck always said odd things, much like Cas himself, so the comment wasn't considered for any great length of time.

"Yes, I got taller after I left," Cas verified, reaching up to rub the scruff on his face. "And my facial hair came in." Chuck had also always been the hairy one, as was still apparent.

"Wow," he was shaking his head. "I just… can't believe it's you!" He grabbed Cas by the arms and shook him. "It's really you man! Ten years!"

"Yes, so it's been," Cas agreed, bodily taking Chuck by the arms and removing him from his person. "How did you know I was here?" He didn't say home. Kansas wasn't his home. Not anymore.

"Oh, you know, word travels fast," Chuck explained a fact that Cas was already too well aware of. "Samandriel was going to come see you too, but he doesn't get out of work for another few hours." Cas nodded. "I just can't believe it's really you! So how have you been?"

And Cas considered how he was supposed to sum up ten years in a single conversation.

"Fine." Yes, that was adequate.

"Fine…" Chuck repeated. "Well that's great!" he slapped Cas on the arm, in a friendly way. "Really great." He paused. "I've been fine too. I work for the newspaper now, Chief editor." Cas nodded, eyebrows raised in surprised congratulations. "I make pretty good money. And I have a girlfriend. Met her over the internet…"

"I hear that's a good way to meet people nowadays," Cas offered.

"Yeah, it's been pretty great," Chuck licked his lips. "And Samandriel. He's a dentist now. Pretty good one too. Never steered me wrong." Chuck looked Cas up and down again. "Wow," he repeated. "I just can't believe it's you. You're just so… different…"

"Yes, that seems to be the general consensus since I've arrived," Cas replied.

"Oh yeah? Who else have you seen?"

"Just Dean Winchester." Chuck cocked a skeptical brow. "My rental car broke down and he had to tow me into town." Chuck nodded in understanding. "I think my appearance surprised him."

"Yeah, I'd hope so!" Chuck laughed. "After everything he and Raphael, and Zack, and Uriel, put us through. He better be surprised." Chuck looked awfully satisfied with himself. "How the mighty have fallen, huh?"

"Uh, yeah…" Cas replied, abruptly uncomfortable. "He wasn't that bad actually." Chuck's face dropped. "It has been ten years after all."

"I guess," Chuck shrugged. "I honestly haven't said two words to him since high school, unless I'm taking my car in to get it fixed. And even then I usually end up working with Bobby."

"It's unfortunate he never went back to school," Cas observed.

"You think?" Chuck stated. "Guess I can't say I'm surprised you'd say that. You always were defending him back then. Had a soft spot for him." Chuck wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, mostly because he and Samandriel had been well aware of Cas's sexual orientation. And that he'd been rather infatuated with Dean.

"Please be careful," Cas issued quietly. "My mother is in the other room."

"Oh, right, right," Chuck made a zipping motion across his mouth. "Your secret is safe with me." And Cas had full confidence that it was. "You know," Chuck moved on with the discussion. "You should come by the pub tonight. Ellen is having her annual Christmas party and Samandriel and I always go. It'll be fun."

Cas considered it.

"C'mon," Chuck continued to try and persuade him. "Someone always gets way too hammered and makes a fool of themselves. It'll be awesome, like back in high school, only we won't be the biggest losers in the room."

"Who will be then?"

"Whoever's drunkest," Chuck added with a smirk. "Besides, Dean is always there, if that sways your decision."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "It's been ten years Chuck. And I have a boyfriend," he said that last much more quietly. "So that's hardly a variable anymore." Which was true. He and Michael were very serious and committed. Dean was a long forgotten crush, one he'd just happened to have run into during the last few days.

He was straight anyway.

"Ah, c'mon, come anyway," Chuck continued. "You're Castiel, part of the loser group. Except now you're awesome! I want to show you off to all those jerks we went to school with."

Cas sighed. "I suppose I could make an appearance."

"Awesome!" Chuck smiled, unashamed of his shallow reasons for asking Cas to come. "Now, have you played Skyrim yet?"

"Skyrim?" Cas furrowed his eyebrows. "I gave up playing video games a long time ago."

"What?!" Chuck was highly offended. "Yeah, right! C'mon, we're going to go play some Skyrim."

"But, I-"

" _C'mon_!" Chuck wasn't going to take "no" for an answer. "We can go hang out at  _my_  place. I'll show you my new and improved Magic card collection. You're going to be impressed, I know it."

And so Cas was forced back out into the snow.

**oOo**

"I don't understand why you're so worried about this," Sam was saying, his shaggy-haired head visible on the old computer monitor sitting on Dean's desk. They were skyping, mostly because Dean was too busy rummaging through his closet to hold a phone. "You go to Ellen's party every year and you've never cared what you were wearing before."

"Yeah, well, I do this year," he defended without looking back to see his brother's exasperated expression. "Is it so bad that maybe I don't want to show up in a pair of holy jeans and a grease stained shirt?"

"Who're you trying to impress?"

"No one!" Dean replied a little too loudly. Grumbling to himself, he got down on his hands and knees as he began to rummage through the bottom drawer of his dresser. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that pointed out how right Sam was. But it wasn't going so well, so instead he tried to create a logical rebuttal.

He'd stopped by the grocery store after work to pick up some milk, because his was getting chunky and he  _needed_  cereal in the morning, when he'd run into Naomi Novak. She had, of course, gone on to thank him profusely for taking care of Cas, to which he'd replied in every way he should. And as casual conversation went, Naomi had eventually dropped the info that Chuck Shurley had told her that Castiel was going with him to Ellen's party at the pub.

But that wasn't why Dean was trying to look nice. Well, it was, but it also wasn't. He wasn't trying to "impress" Cas in the traditional sense. Rather, Cas was the only person in town that hadn't been privy to his generally dirtied up duds. Was it so horrible that Dean, now that he wasn't in his uniform, wanted to show the only person that  _didn't_  live in Burr that he wasn't always a filthy mudpuppy?

The logic was sound as far as he was concerned.

He growled in frustration as he threw another stained shirt across the room.

"Dean, whoever it is that you're trying to show off for, if they're really interested in you, they're not going to care what you're wearing," Sam sounded only half-invested in the conversation, his eyes distracted as he worked on a paper.

"I'm not interested in anyone!" Dean spat angrily, finally pulling out a shirt he thought was clean only to turn it over and find a huge oil splotch in the middle of it. He threw it at the wall. "I just… want to look nice, is that a crime?"

"No," he could practically hear Sam shrugging as he replied. "But it'd be helpful if you could tell me why so then maybe I could give you some better advice. You trying to start something with Jo again?" Ellen's daughter. She'd be working the bar tonight.

"No, of course not," Dean replied. "We're just friends."

"Lisa?"

"No."

"Cassie?"

"What?!" He reminded himself that Sam wasn't referring to Cas. "No, not her either. Damn Sam, I haven't dated her since high school."

"I'm just trying to figure it out is all," Sam replied. "I mean, there's only so many girls in Burr." And though Dean couldn't see him, he'd glanced up then, his mouth falling open as if he'd been struck by an epiphany.

He didn't comment however.

"If you're trying to get someone's attention, then you need to show off your assets," Sam decided to take this from a new perspective. Rather, from the perspective that Dean was trying to impress someone  _new_. "You're in good shape, so where a tighter t-shirt. Trust me, it's not going to matter if it's got a little bit of a stain on it." Dean had paused to listen to his little brother, more in-tune now that he was actually offering detailed advise.

"Don't try to where a super nice pair of pants. You look at your most natural when you're sticking to your roots. So wear a pair of jeans that look good, that way you're keeping that rough style you wear so well. Throw on one of your over shirts and your typical boots and I promise you'll look fine. Just make sure you take off the over shirt eventually to show off your arms."

Yes, Dean nodded, because he had good arms.

"This is basically what I wear whenever I'm not working," Dean commented blandly.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It's the most natural on you, which is why it looks best. You don't want to look like you're trying too hard. Then you'll just seem desperate."

"I'm not desperate," Dean snapped.

"Yeah, whatever."

Ignoring Sam's attitude, Dean decided by default that he had to be right. Mostly because, at this point, he was pretty sure he didn't have much of a choice on what he wore because it was all he had. So, finding a pair of mediocre, faded jeans, he slipped them on, frowning shortly as he looked down at his bowlegs. He then grabbed up a simple black t-shirt, because then the oil stains were hardly visible, before pulling that on too. He finished up with his brown boots and a faded green over shirt.

Leaving Sam on the monitor, he then went to his small bathroom before turning on the lights above the cabinet and examining himself in the mirror. He had a bit of a five-o-clock shadow going on, which he decided might be a good thing. It hid his childhood scars.

So instead of shaving it off completely, he took his razor and trimmed up the edges before re-spiking his hair. Nodding in approval, he decided that he looked an appropriate amount of mussed up. Though not nearly as scruffy as Cas. Guy somehow managed to pull off looking like a mess and a genius all at the same time. Fricken Albert Einstein or something.

Leaving the bathroom, he went back to the computer and displayed himself for Sam to critique.

"Lookin' good," he nodded his approval. "You've got that rough and tumble country guy thing goin,' which I'm sure will impress." Impress a city person anyway, but Sam kept that to himself too.

"Alright, awesome," Dean slapped his hands together. "I'm gonna go then."

"Good luck," Sam said through the speakers. "You go get 'im tiger."

And as Dean walked out the door, he only paused for a second to consider what his little brother had said before shaking his head and deciding to ignore it.


	4. Simmer Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday tomorrow, so here's some chapter gifts for you ^-^ Let me know what you think of it!

Following Chuck in through the doors, Cas was immediately struck by the loud music echoing around the pub. It wasn't offensively loud, but mixed with the sound of people laughing and talking, it was almost overwhelming. Cas wasn't the partying type; he generally found such gatherings too hard to handle – too much to focus on. But Chuck had asked him to come, so he'd stay for at least a little while.

Besides, he did want to see Samandriel.

He didn't quite understand what Chuck thought he was going to accomplish by "showing" him off. Most of the people in the pub either didn't know him, didn't recognize him, or thought him of little consequence. It wasn't as though he'd been popular during high school, so he certainly wasn't going to be now.

In any case, he followed his old friend through the crowd. The pub was decorated in holiday spirit, with wreaths, lights, and garland. There was a sidewall set up with a catered snack table, the only free food in the house. And the first drink was free for everyone. It wasn't at though it was a party in the traditional sense, but it was an excuse for the drinkers of the community, and even those that weren't, to get together and "have a good time."

"I see Samandriel over there," Chuck was saying, drawing Cas's attention back his way. He spotted him as well, sitting at a table by himself and waving them over. He looked much the same as he had in high school, his face youthful and young. In fact, if Cas didn't know any better, he wouldn't say he looked a day over twenty.

"Holy shit!" Samandriel swore as they finally reached his table, which was somewhat off to the side of the main event. "Castiel, look at you. You look so great!" He was staring his old friend up and down, blinking and looking completely shocked. "You're so much taller!"

"Yes," Cas agreed, Samandriel having an obviously surprised reaction to the sound of his voice, which was a considerable amount deeper. "It would appear that I was what my mother calls a 'late bloomer.'"

"Tch, yeah, that's a bit of an understatement," Samandriel laughed as Chuck and Cas took their seats. "Well I'm glad things worked out for you man. You deserve it." Because, even though Chuck and Samandriel had been bullied during school, none of it had been as bad as Cas had been. They'd tried to protect him, watch his back, as best they'd been able, but only so much had been able to be done.

"My life is not the only one that's been fruitful," Cas started in his typical fashion. "You're a dentist now. That's great."

"Yeah," Samandriel nodded, smiling all the while. "I'm not the top gun in the practice, but it's still good. I'm actually saving up, gonna try and set up my own practice in a few years." He lowered his voice, leaning forward. "I don't agree with everything that happens under my current roof."

"A difference of opinion is natural," Cas replied, Samandriel glancing quickly over at Chuck.

"He looks different," he commented, "but he's still the same Castiel under there." They both laughed.

"I've changed more than my appearance," Cas put in somewhat defensively. "I'm much more sensitive to facial expression than I ever was before. And I don't ask nearly the inappropriate questions."

"At least he's aware of his faults," Chuck joked, Cas even managing a small smile once he realized that they were only kidding. Sort of. It was all said in humor, in any case.

"How is it?" Samandriel focused back on Cas. "Living in Chicago I mean?"

Cas furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. "It's windy," he finally decided, his response not surprising either of his old friends in the least.

"We don't mean the weather Cas," Chuck corrected. "We mean your life there. You said earlier you had a boyfriend," Chuck and his suggestive eyebrows. "Tell us about him. You know, that kind of stuff."

"Michael and I have been together for three years," he explained, his voice lower for fear of someone nearby overhearing. "We are quite content with each other."

"Castiel, elaborate," Samandriel urged.

"Michael is…" Cas shrugged. "He's taller than me. He works in advertising and we met because we work in the same building." What else did they want him to say? His life wasn't some kind of great adventure just because he lived in Chicago. Though he supposed, when he'd lived in Kansas, he'd imagined that it would be. Perhaps Chuck and Samandriel were still stuck under that umbrella. "You two should come and visit," Cas said suddenly. "Then you'd really know."

"I would totally be down for that," Chuck slapped the table, as if to add emphasis. "Although I don't know why we didn't come visit you before now. It was like you moved away and we just stopped talking."

"Yes, I noticed that as well," Cas replied.

"Well, we just won't let it happen when you leave this time," Samandriel decided, the three of them silently agreeing not to place blame for the fact that they'd grown apart. They'd all been equally at fault, or so it was easier to assume rather that actually investigate the situation.

"Hey, hey," Chuck was abruptly trying to get their attention. "Look who just walked in." Glancing over his shoulder, Cas watched as Dean Winchester entered the pub. He was alone, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and his leather jacket. It was then that Cas realized that, since he'd been home, he hadn't seen Dean in anything other than his work uniform.

A rush of nostalgia hit him. No, the leather jacket wasn't Dean's old letterman, but it seemed to fit him better somehow. Made him look more mature. He still walked with that confident sway, Cas wondering, for the first time in ten years, if his bowlegs took away from his height. And decided equally that if it did, he liked it better that way. He liked the way Dean walked.

And, quite unaware of the fact, Cas's eyes traveled back up Dean's whole body, because he hadn't noticed that they'd gone down in the first place. When he finally reached his face again – that face that was still chiseled so perfectly – he realized that those green eyes were looking back at him.

He wasn't in high school anymore, but his breath caught like it always had when Dean would happen to look at him. He tried to ignore the sensation, to remind himself that he was twenty-seven years old and not a hormonal teenager anymore, but still it couldn't be stopped. And then, something incredible happened.

Dean Winchester smirked at him. It wasn't the polite smirk he'd used when they'd been dealing with the car, there was nothing polite about it. He was smirking because he chose to, not because he was obligated to, and that had never happened to Cas before.

That Dean Winchester had bestowed such an expression on him.

"Quick, get the defibrillators, we're losing him, we're losing him!" Chuck's voice was heard somewhere in the back of Cas's head, but he hardly registered it. He was too busy watching Dean walk across the pub. And only stopped staring when he disappeared behind a group of people.

"This really is like old times," Samandriel joked as Cas slowly turned back to face them again, still somewhat dazed. He hadn't expected such a thing, that Dean would actually acknowledge him in public. Sure he was nice if private, but he'd actually smiled at him. In a casual situation.

Never in a thousand years had he considered that to be possible.

"Castiel, hey," Chuck was snapping his fingers in front of his nose, pulling Cas back to the present. "You've got a boyfriend, remember? Quit ogling Winchester."

"He smiled at me," he stated rather dumbly.

"He's really not so bad," Samandriel argued. "Now, anyway. He's worked on my car a few times and I've never had a problem." Chuck still didn't appear totally convinced, the two seeming to bypass the fact that Cas was obviously still somewhat dazed. Which was actually pretty normal. He'd been dazed a lot back in the day.

"I don't know," Chuck scrunched up his nose. "He still hangs out with Raphael and them sometimes. And I know those guys are still total douche-nuggets."

"Yeah, that's true," Samandriel frowned.

"In any case, Castiel, you need to stop thinking about him," Chuck looked firmly back at his old friend, who was finally beginning to come out of the haze. "Just because Dean is a little nicer doesn't make him any less straight, so just calm down."

Cas pursed his lips. "I know that," he countered. "I have a boyfriend."

"Yeah, because that was real obvious a few seconds ago," Samandriel rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just send 'Michael' a pic of Dean and say 'you'll only be good enough when you look like this.'" Cas didn't appreciate the joke, but he didn't say anything on it either. Mostly because the two of them were right. He was letting his old feelings for Dean get the better of him.

It  _was_  a good thing Dean was straight.

"In any case, why are we not drinking?!" Chuck asked rather robustly. "I must be tipsy by the end of the hour!" He had a very firm look on his face. "Now, who will fetch the beverages?!" He pushed his fist forward. "Hands in men!"

Doing the same, both Samandriel and Cas put their fists in, Chuck counting to three before they made their play. Samandriel put out scissors where Chuck and Cas did paper, so then the two of them went a round. Unfortunately, Chuck used paper again while Cas went for rock, which meant he'd lost.

"Go chosen slave!" Chuck continued theatrically. "Fetch me my sustenance! And do not be distracted by sirens in red!" His voice lowered. "Or in your case, men in old jeans and leather jackets."

"Shut up," Cas replied as he rose from his seat, Chuck looking far too aghast in response to actually be offended. Ignoring their immature instigations, he turned and headed into the crowd, pushing his way toward the bar.

Thankfully, he didn't run into anyone he'd known and was able to make it there without any interruption. Finding himself an empty spot at the bar, he waited patiently for Ellen or Jo to notice him, which could take a few minutes considering how busy they were. But he was patient and wasn't going to pressure them any further than they already were. Instead, he focused on the bottles sitting on the shelves behind them, considering what he should order. Probably just beers he figured. He wasn't a very big fan of beer, but he also wasn't a big fan of drinking in general.

So intent on his thoughts, Cas didn't even notice when the man that had come up beside him said something. He said something twice actually, but Cas still wasn't paying attention. It wasn't until a hand was waved in front of his face that he blinked and glanced over.

"Not already drunk are you?" Dean asked, holding up his own beer and taking a drink.

"No, I was thinking," Cas verified, reminding himself of three things. He wasn't in high school anymore. Dean was straight. And Michael.

"Well you should be," Dean said. "Ordering alcohol is a very important decision. Order the wrong kind and it could change your whole life. You should consider it longer, maybe a few days or so." Halfway through his spiel, Cas had realized he was making fun of him and had narrowed his eyes into a slight glare.

Dean only smirked however, completely unaffected.

"I'm sorry I prefer to make all my decisions carefully," was his sassy reply, or so Dean interpreted it. "What's the point of spending money on a drink if you're not even going to like it?"

"Well, there's the whole drunk part," Dean explained. "You know, drink it anyway and still get the effect."

"I have no intention of getting drunk," Cas replied, unable to pull his gaze away from those green eyes. "I have a very high tolerance actually, despite my dislike for most alcoholic beverages."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"It's not."

"If you say so," Dean looked away, obviously not convinced as he took another sip from his beer. Cas pursed his lips, not appreciating the disbelieving attitude. After all, he could drink if he wanted to. Michael didn't like drinking much and never had he, but that didn't mean he couldn't. Maybe it  _was_  a challenge.

"I could drink you under the table," Cas finally said, using an expression he didn't quite understand, but knew got the point across. Dean paused, glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes before turning to face him fully again. He appeared skeptical, still smirking.

"You could drink  _me_  under the table?" He laughed shortly, Cas narrowing his eyes further. "Drinking was, and still can be, a recreational sport for me. You wouldn't stand a chance."

"Is  _that_  a challenge?"

"Damn straight it is."

Cas whispered, "Too bad I'm not."

Dean's grin became a smile as he laughed again.

"You're on."

"Jo!" Dean slammed his hand down on the bar, a few of the people around him glancing over curiously. "Two shots of whatever you've got." Jo cocked only one of her shapely eyebrows skeptically before walking over to them. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at Dean quizzically.

"You don't look like you're up to any kind of good Dean Winchester," she stated, apparently not realizing that Cas was the one who was in on this whole drinking thing. Why would she? He was sitting there in a yellow V-neck sweater. He wasn't exactly the type of person Dean usually drank with.

"Actually, you know what? Just leave the shot glasses and the whole bottle. We'll take care of it." He didn't gesture to Cas, so she was still unaware that he was involved. She retrieved a bottle and two shots for Dean anyway, saying she'd put it on his tab before she returned to work.

"Just regular, run-of-the-mill vodka," Dean started as he unscrewed the top and poured the appropriate amount into each tiny glass. He then pushed one toward Cas. "Now, feel free to back out. I won't think less of you for it."

"Shut up," Cas said for the second time that night before taking his shot and downing it in one go. He then set it back on the bar and raised his eyebrows expectantly. And so, with that ever-present smirk, Dean nodded once before downing his own drink and setting it back on the counter.

He poured another for each of them. They shot them at the same time.

He filled them a third time.

"Now don't go overboard there Cas," Dean started to say. "Don't want to have you puking all over your fancy Chicago clothes." He grinned, those white teeth flashing easily in the light.

"Don't worry about that," Cas tried to think of something witty to say as fast as possible. "If I throw up anywhere, it's not going to be on  _my_  clothes." He cocked a knowing brow at Dean, whose smile became a frown.

"I'll make sure I'm out of the way." He took it as a threat, just as Cas had intended, before the two of them downed another shot.

They both took a deep breath as Dean poured a forth shot for each of them.

"You know, you keep trying to convince me to quit," Cas started, "but I should extend the same offer to you." He raised his glass and nodded once, still invested in that green stare. "Do say so when it gets to be too much for you."

"Won't happen," Dean assured as he downed the current shot. Cas followed quickly after.

A fifth was poured.

It was drank without a single word.

Onto the sixth.

"Okay, I'm a  _little_  impressed," Dean admitted. "I honestly hadn't expected you to make it this far."

"I'm full of surprises," Cas assured, making sure he was looking directly at Dean as he said it. And in response, Dean raised his eyebrows, but couldn't find anything to say. So Cas drank, which spurred his companion to do the same.

A seventh.

"Okay, that's enough," Jo finally intervened, taking the bottle off the bar. "I've been watching you two this whole time and you haven't even given the alcohol time to sink in, so I think you need to take a tiny break. I don't want to be babysitting you all night." Dean looked about to object, Cas sipping the seventh shot clean as he watched the exchange. Dean followed quickly after.

Watching Jo walk away, Cas wondered fleetingly if she recognized him. He imagined not however, mostly because the last ten years had affected him considerably. That was, made him considerably more  _awesome_. If it hadn't been for his mom, Chuck and Samandriel wouldn't have recognized him either.

Dean had just been lucky.

"I have to go," Cas decided suddenly, looking to Dean, who'd been staring at him ever since Jo had left. "I have  _friends_  that are waiting for me." And with that, he didn't even bother giving Dean the chance to respond before pushing himself from his seat. And as he did, the whole room seemed to turn on him.

Stumbling to the side, Cas nearly bulldozed into a couple sitting beside him. Before he could however, a pair of strong arms held him back, steadying him until the oddly wavy room had righted itself.

"You almost fell over," Dean's voice drew his eyes around and Cas, gaze narrowed, turned to see that it was he who had caught him. "You think maybe you had too much?" He was smiling like an idiot however, so Cas decided his question was a little hypocritical.

"No," Cas replied, pushing himself a step away from Dean. "I'm fine," he assured, concentrating as best he could on keeping the room upright. "I'm going now," he raised his finger, as if to gesture in the direction he was headed, and thought better of it at the last moment. Reaching out, he booped Dean on the nose first, because it had seemed like a good idea. "I'll see you later." And with that, he turned and headed back the way he'd thought he'd come.

Dean watched him the whole way.

Luckily, he was able to locate Chuck and Samandriel, whose impatient looks evaporated into confusion as Cas stumbled back into his seat. Mouths hanging open slightly, they glanced only quickly to each other before focusing back on their old friend.

"Are you…" Chuck pushed the subject hesitantly. "Are you drunk?"

"No!" Cas objected a little too loudly, his two friends startling slightly before looks of disbelief dropped across their faces. Cas rethought his strategy. "Yes!" He admitted, but he wasn't sure if that was true either. "Maybe…" Yeah, that sounded better.

"He was gone for like fifteen minutes," Samandriel looked to Chuck in disbelief. "Apparently we shouldn't have let him go off on his own."

"I'm fine!" Cas objected to their conversation. "Don't worry about it. I was just… just…" Wow, the room was really starting to get fuzzy. Maybe he needed glasses. "I need to see an ophthalmologist." He blinked a few times.

"I think you need some water," Chuck decided before mouthing a silent "wow" to Samandriel. "How much did you drink exactly?"

"Vodka!" Cas was trying to answer the question. "Seven… seven I think."

"Seven shots?!" Chuck was really gaping now. "In fifteen minutes?! Why would you do that?!" It was a rather huge amount actually, especially in such a short amount of time. And seeing as neither of the boys had seen Cas drunk before, they weren't exactly sure what to do with him.

"I had to," Cas argued irritably. "He challenged me."

"Who?" Samandriel furrowed his eyebrows.

"Dean Winchester."

"Dean Winchester?!" Chuck was still overreacting.

"I won," Cas decided that it didn't matter if it was a lie or not because neither of his friends were going to know the truth. Probably. Besides, they should trust him. He was a very trustworthy person. "I'm trustworthy."

"Not right now you're not," Samandriel finally allowed a laugh to leave his lips. "Right now you're just trashed."

"Yeah, I never thought I'd see little Cassie so messed up," a deep voice said behind them and Cas scowled. Chuck and Samnadriel's eyes went wide, their mouths gaping in surprise as their cheeks paled, but Cas didn't get the message. Instead, he turned his head over his shoulder to get a better look at Raphael.

"Go away," he eventually said, looking at his old nemesis with as much loathing as he could muster.

"Feisty," Raphael commented with a short smirk, Cas noting that Dean's was much friendlier. He liked it when Dean smiled. He had a very good smile. It took up a very large amount of his face. Dean was really pretty all around actually. He should tell him. Everyone enjoyed a compliment. "So Cassie, looks like life has treated you pretty well since high school."

"Don't call me that," Cas dragged his attention back to Raphael. "My name is Castiel. Learn it." Both Chuck and Samandriel were starting to get nervous now. Cas was being pretty gutsy in his drunken state and both Uriel and Zack had come in with Raphael. The three ex-nerds wouldn't stand a chance against them.

"You think that just because you live in a big, fancy city now, you can tell me what to do?"

"I think I can tell you what to do," Cas stood, slightly wobbly on his feet, and looked Raphael straight in the eyes, "because you're an asshole." He then had the audacity to jab Raphael in the chest with his finger, Chuck and Samandriel cringing and beginning to panic. They had no idea what they were supposed to do. This was why they stayed on the sidelines most of the time.

Raphael's smirk had vanished by then and had been replaced by a deep-set frown. Which was part of the reason why Chuck and Samandriel were so nervous. Even back in high school, Raphael had had a bad temper. And they knew, based on other fights he'd been in, that it hadn't improved any since.

"Watch is Cassie," he practically threatened. "I don't hesitate to hit drunk people." And probably didn't hesitate in hitting women either, or kids. At least, that was what Cas figured. And he had half a mind to say as much, but was interrupted before he could.

"Let's,  _everybody_ , just simmer down," Dean had come up on the confrontation, only a few other more observant people in the pub even realizing that something was going on. "This is supposed to be a party, so let's not get too worked up." He honestly didn't look to be in much better shape than Cas (maybe able to stand a little straighter) and everyone now looking at him could tell.

"Damn Dean," Raphael's temper was held momentarily at bay as he took in his old high school buddy. "Got started without me I see." Chuck and Samandriel didn't comment on that, and hoped that Cas wouldn't either. He looked pretty preoccupied with trying to find his seat again however.

"Yes… I did," Dean eventually got out. And apparently didn't have much else to say on the subject because he then just continued to stare at Raphael. He did waver a little on his feet however.

"I think you need to go sit down man," Raphael issued, clapping Dean on the shoulder in a firm but friendly way. "You're about to fall over." He was honestly rather surprised. He hadn't seen Dean this drunk in years. Rather, Dean rarely  _got_  drunk at all anymore.

"I'm fine here," Dean decided simply, his lips pursing and his eyes suddenly sharp. The expression lasted only a moment however before it'd faded back behind the drunkenness. In any case, Dean wasn't totally gone, and was in control to a certain extent. For the time being anyway. "Actually," he was still intent on Raphael, "why don't we go get something to drink. You know, celebrate the season." Raphael had glanced back at Cas, who'd finally made it into his chair and was examining his hand. "Don't worry about them," Dean waved off the three at the table flippantly and Raphael turned to him again. "They're not worth it anyway."

Yes, Chuck decided. Dean was in far better control than he was letting on.

Raphael appeared indecisive at first, wanting terribly to take advantage of how completely out of it his old victim was, but eventually decided that disagreeing with Dean would reflect poorly on him. Nodding slowly, he cast the group of three an immature warning glance before turning away. Together with Dean and his posse, he headed toward the other side of the pub.

Chuck and Samandriel released relieved sighs.

"He left," Cas observed too late as he looked over his shoulder again. "I could have taken him." He returned to the task of examining his hand.

**oOo**

"What are we supposed to do with him?" Chuck asked nervously as they left the pub. Cas was stumbling along between them, the two men keeping a close eye on him. "We can't take him home."

"Why not?" Samandriel asked. "He's an adult."

"Have you met Castiel's mom?" Chuck hissed. "It doesn't matter how old he is, she'd still skin him alive for coming home drunk. He's supposed to be the perfect angel of a son, remember!"

"Okay, okay," Samandriel tried to brainstorm. "We'll just take him back to one of our places and let him sleep it off." Chuck looked about to object. "And we'll call Mrs. Novak and tell her he was hanging out with us, but fell asleep, and we forgot to call and tell her. You know, seeing as we're  _adults_  and everything!" He hadn't meant to spit that last quite so viciously.

"Okay, so who's place is he staying at?" Chuck asked, catching Cas as he wobbled to the side.

"You know guys," Cas finally found his voice. "I may be drunk, but that doesn't mean I can't hear you…" And neither of his old friends decided that anything he had to say was of any relevance.

"He needs to go to your place," Samandriel decided. "I have to get up early to work on a root canal and-"

"Samandriel," Chuck interrupted him, his voice having dropped considerably as he stared across the parking lot. "Look over there." He pointed and, eyebrows furrowed, Samandriel glanced around until he noticed the source of Chuck's attention.

"Are you serious…" his shoulders dropped. "Can't we just leave him?" He looked again to Chuck.

"No…?" Chuck didn't sound certain. "I mean, he did, like, save us from Raphael. I think." They still weren't entirely sure.

Eyes glancing back over, the two watched as Dean Winchester stumbled around under a street lamp, apparently trying to find the door to the driver's side of his car. And when he finally did, he pulled his keys out of his pocket before promptly dropping them. He then got down on all fours to search.

Chuck and Samandriel sighed.

"I'll go get him," Samandriel decided as he started to walk away. "You keep an eye on Castiel." With that, he hunkered over to Dean, who was grumbling under his breath while reaching under his car for his keys. Only problem was, they were sitting behind him. Bending down, Samandriel picked them up before clearing his throat.

"Hm, what?" Dean slowly pulled his head over his shoulder to glance up at him. He then seemed to remember he was on the ground. "I was lookin' for my keys."

"I know," Samandriel replied. "I found them," he jingled them for Dean to see, who's expression didn't change from his idiotic gape as he looked up at him. "Now c'mon, you're in no state to drive."

"You can' tell me what-a-do," Dean replied rebelliously. "I can drive all-nigh-long."

"No," Samandriel stated firmly. "C'mon, Chuck and I will take you home." Dean was trying to get up now, using his car for leverage. It was working moderately well. He slipped once.

"Someone'll steal my car," he added as he finally got to his feet, wavering back and forth dangerously. Samandriel wasn't sure if he'd try to catch him. After all, whether Castiel liked him or not, whether he'd defended them or not, this was still Dean Winchester. Still the guy that helped torment them all through high school.

"No one's going to steal your car," Samandriel assured, which was probably true. No one would be able to get away with it. Everyone in town knew the Impala was Dean's. There'd be no point in laying a hand on it. "C'mon, we need to get you and Castiel in the car before one of you gets a concussion."

"Cas is here?" Dean asked, finally stumbling toward Samandriel. "'Course he is," he added, trailing Samandriel slowly as they made their way across the parking lot. It would seem he no longer had any issues with leaving his car. "That guy," Samandriel assumed he was still talking about Castiel, "he's cool. Pretty cool guy."

"I know," Samandriel agreed flatly, finally finding his way back over to Chuck. Castiel was leaning against Chuck's car by this time, looking around aimlessly. That was, until he saw Dean. And until Dean saw him.

"Hey!" Dean stumbled over to him, a goofy grin on his face. "It's you!" He nearly ran into him, only managing to stop his momentum in time to allow about a foot between him and Castiel.

"I'm me," Castiel pointed to himself, his words deep and serious. Chuck and Samandriel rolled their eyes.

"Okay, everyone in the car," Samandriel pulled open the back door before ushering Castiel in first. And Dean, it would appear, needed little inclination to follow. He ducked right in, nearly smacking his forehead in the process.

Samandriel slammed the door behind them.

"I'll follow you in my car," he was looking at Chuck, who frowned. "What?"

"What if they start to act stupid?" he crossed his arms over his chest. "Castiel I could handle, but both of them?" He cocked a skeptical brow and Samandriel sighed. "We'll come back for your car once we get Dean home, alright? So then it's just Castiel." Nodding in understanding, Samandriel made his way to the passenger's side before they both climbed in.

Starting the car, they backed out of the parking spot.

Dean leaned forward between the two front seats. "Where are we goin'?" he slurred.

"Well, that is the question," Samandriel replied. "Where do you live?" He glanced quickly back at Dean in the darkness, who'd flopped against the seat. Castiel, beside him, was rather focused on staring out the window, mouth agape.

"Kenrick Apartments," he replied easily enough, Chuck and Samandriel both thankful they hadn't had to lure it out of him, drunk as he was. Because not only had he apparently shared those shots with Castiel, but they'd later seen him drinking with Raphael as well.

"At least that's close," Chuck muttered, though everything was "close" in Burr.

"I'm staying at Chuck's tonight," Castiel turned abruptly inward, intent on Dean as he spoke. "Because I'm drunk." He didn't suffer from the slur that Dean did, but he was acting rather loopy. Initially he'd been angry and mean, but that seemed to have passed.

"I'm going home," Dean replied, turning to meet Cas's gaze in the darkness. "I live alone." Chuck and Samandriel glanced at each other with furrowed brows, but didn't comment.

"I don't," Castiel replied, the two up front absolutely astounded by the intellect being displayed. "In Chicago."

"Thas pretty awesome," Dean was nodding. "You're pretty awesome."

"You're pretty," Castiel laid the side of his head against the back seat, still staring at Dean, and both Samandriel and Chuck rolled their eyes.

"I know," Dean agreed, which caused the two sober ones to then sigh. "I'm adorable." He grinned, that bright smile shining even in the darkness. Castiel didn't respond however, the silence spurring Dean to continue speaking. No matter how unadvised that might be. "You're a pretty girl," he finally slurred, still looking at Castiel before he reached out and booped him on the nose, much like Cas had done earlier that evening.

"I know," Cas agreed.

"And I'm glad we just arrived at Kenrick Apartments," Chuck announced, thankful the trip wasn't long because neither he nor Samandriel were quite sure what to think of the exchange going on in the backseat. "Where do we need to go Dean?"

"The righ-side," he replied, pulling his eyes away from Castiel to lean forward again and gesture rather unnecessarily to the right. "Over there. No wait. Yeah, stop… stop here," the car was pausing and stalling as they tried to take the directions. "Pull up here. Righ… yeah, like that."

Chuck and Samandriel sighed again.

"Thanks," Dean stated, fumbling with the door before finally getting it open. Falling out of the car, he just barely made it into standing as he wobbled across the snow littered yard toward the building. Those in the car watched him momentarily before eventually deciding to get out and make sure he got to wherever it was he was headed.

"I'm coming too," Castiel announced, able to push the door open much more gracefully than Dean before he surged out. He looked as though he might lose his balance, Chuck growing impatient with him, but he was grounded soon enough. And neither of the sober ones objected to him coming along. It was better than leaving him in the car alone, or so they figured.

Dean seemed to know where he was going however, bumbling up a flight of stairs rather successfully before continuing down a single hallway. It wasn't the most magnificent of apartment buildings, maybe a little below what an average person might consider acceptable. And as Chuck and Samandriel glanced around, they couldn't help feeling very alone and secluded in the dimmed lighting.

Castiel was following dutifully behind.

"Here's me," Dean muttered as he approached the door. He started searching through his pockets, no doubt for his keys, and Samandriel stepped forward. Handing him the ring of clanking metal, Dean "hmphed" in response before locating the correct key. Pushing his way into the apartment, he was intent on delving into the darkness, which left Chuck and Samandriel to find the light switch. Unfortunately, they failed.

"Okay Dean," Chuck pulled out his phone and flipped it forward, igniting part of what looked like the living room. "We're going to go now so… don't do anything stupid." There was no reply, Chuck glancing over at Samandriel with a shrug. Their lack of care didn't last long however, mostly because a few seconds later, they realized that Castiel was gone. He'd wandered further into the apartment.

"Castiel!" Chuck stated loudly. "Get back he-"

"Dude," Samandriel grabbed his arm, silencing him. "Let him go," he muttered. "Then he can stay here and they can both be drunk together. That way, we don't have to worry about them." Chuck, eyebrows furrowed, considered the idea.

"But what if they do something stupid?"

"What are they gonna do?" Samandriel asked. "They could barely hold a coherent conversation. They'll be passed out in no time." Thinking on it for only a moment longer, Chuck eventually gave in and decided it'd be one less worry for him.

Looking back into the apartment, he cleared his throat. "We're gonna go now Castiel," he announced. "So you have fun."

"Goodbye," was the low response they were given, proof that Castiel was still alive. Satisfied, they nodded once to each other before heading back out the door, leaving Dean and Castiel to fend for themselves.

Which, now that Dean had finally found his bedroom, wouldn't be that difficult. It was the only room in the apartment that had a light switch; everything else was either a lamp or a pull string. Flicking it on, his somewhat blurred eyes adjusted as the light cascaded out into the living room. Turning to peer out, he narrowed his eyes when he spotted a figure sitting on his sofa.

Automatically suspicious, he bumbled into the room, not at all afraid of who it might be or whether they could be dangerous. Reaching the table by the sofa, he turned the switch that would flick on the lamp before turning to the figure accusingly.

Able to see now, their faces only inches apart, Dean finally recognized who was sitting there. Cas was staring up at him, not at all fazed by his attack. Rather, all he did was blink.

"It's you," Dean observed astutely.

"I'm me," Cas assured. Defenses lowering (what little of them had been risen), Dean leaned back before stepping around Cas and plopping down on the sofa next to him. They sat like that for a moment, silent, until Cas finally turned to look at Dean again.

"Your parents are dead," he stated flatly. At first Dean didn't reply, eyebrows furrowing as he considered what he'd just heard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his brain was reminding him that he didn't like to talk about personal things. But it would appear his mouth was more in charge at the moment.

"Yup," he agreed simply. "Ten years ago in the middle of a snow storm." Besides, he wasn't really allowing too much info to leak through anyway.

"I'm sorry," Cas's deep voice decided.

"Not your fault. You weren't even here."

"Neither were you," or so Cas had heard.

"Had to come back though," Dean nodded. "Which is okay. Now I'm here," he glanced quickly to Cas, "and you're here too. We're both here."

"I'm only here for Christmas," Cas corrected however, pulling his gaze from Dean only momentarily before another thought struck him and he'd whipped back around to catch those green eyes. "What do you do for Christmas?" Because he was suddenly very curious.

"Not a whole lot," Dean's slur wasn't quite so severe anymore. "Just me and Sammy usually, and sometimes Bobby. But I think he's workin' this year, since me and him are the only ones at the shop anymore." Because someone had to run it and Dean had worked Christmas the year before.

"Do you get a tree?" Cas's voice was ever curious. "Trees are important."

"Nah," Dean waved the idea off. "Not worth wastin' the money."

"Oh," Cas looked away again. "I don't have that problem." If he was sober, he'd have remembered that such a comment wasn't politically correct. Lucky for him however, Dean didn't mind. Actually, he found Cas's social inadequacies to be quite amusing.

Always had. Even back in high school. Not amusing in a mean way however, not like Raphael had. No, he thought of it differently. Cas was almost… cute about it.

Cute?

He'd better save that analysis for when he was sober.

"What time is it?" Dean asked suddenly, looking over at Cas for an answer. He only got a shrug in response, those blue eyes catching his once again. "Well, it's late, in any case. I'm going to bed." He then furrowed his eyebrows, as if struck by a sudden thought. "Where are you going?"

Cas shrugged again.

"Well, I guess you can crash on the couch," Dean glanced down at the sofa. "It's kinda old though. And this side is missing some of the stuffing." Dean knew from experience that it wasn't very comfortable. "Or there's the floor.  _Or_ ," he raised his eyebrows knowingly, "I can get you Sammy's air mattress.

"That's what we'll do," he stood to his feet, wobbling a bit. "I'll go get that. It's just in my closet." Gesturing forward while pushing his feet in the same direction, he tripped back into his bedroom. Cas watched him momentarily, eyebrows furrowed, before getting to his own feet as well and following after.

Dean's room wasn't that big. He had a single mattress in the corner, sitting on a bedspring. There was no frame or headboard. The dresser was old, chipped, and littered with childish stickers. Perhaps the same furniture he'd used as a kid. There were stacks of clothes littered across the brown carpet. And in the corner across from the bed was a single desk with an old computer and monitor sitting on top.

"It's up here," Dean was saying, Cas turning his attention to him as he reached up toward the top shelf of his closet. "Have to get it out for Sammy anyway…" Cas didn't care much about the air mattress however. He was more distracted by the fact that Dean had shed his over shirt and when he reached up into the closet, his t-shirt drifted upwards, revealing a strip of pale, white skin. Because, besides his arms and face, very little else of Dean saw the sunlight.

Due to the drunkenness, Cas didn't bother hiding how he stared. Dean couldn't see him anyway. Instead, eyes still trained on that slip of flesh, he wandered over to the bed and sat down. His legs were tired.

"Here it is," Dean muttered and tried to pull something down from the shelf. It wouldn't budge however and, growling, he tugged harder. Still it wouldn't fall. So he gave it a great yank and with a tumble, if finally fell free. As well as numerous other boxes that landed directly on top of him.

Wide-eyed, Cas watched as Dean and his stuff toppled to the ground, landing in a heap before the closet.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked, moderately concerned, but not enough to spur him into getting up.

"Yes!" Dean growled in frustration as he pushed a couple boxes out of his lap. Muttering incoherently to himself, he located the air mattress once again before pulling it out from under some of the dusty debris. With it finally free, he got to his feet again before turning to Cas. "There, now you just have to blow it up."

Cas cocked a skeptical brow. "No." He decided and, intending to remain steadfast in his refusal, flopped back on the bed.

Dean frowned.

"Well I'm not going to use it," Dean stated flatly and garnered no response. "Hey," he dropped the air mattress to the floor. "Cas," he leaned over the bed to get a better look at the guy. "Cas, don't fall asleep there." Those blue eyes were already closed. "Cas!" He tapped his cheeks in an attempt to wake him.

"Don't," Cas whined and pushed Dean away, his eyes closing tighter. Rolling over, he scooted further onto the bed.

"Cas, get up," Dean complained, both of them sounding rather childish and immature. "That's my bed. I'm the one that sleeps there. You have to use the air mattress." He pulled one knee up onto the bed, leaning further over so he could shake Cas's jacket-covered shoulder. "Cas…"

Nothing.

Dean sighed.

"I'm not using the air mattress," he said firmly, but it would appear that Cas was either asleep or ignoring him. Dean narrowed his eyes, considering the predicament as well as his drunk mind would allow.

"Okay, fine," he eventually determined. "You can sleep there, but you have to stay on your side." He tried to push Cas's body a little closer to the other edge. "I'll sleep on this side and you stay over there." Still there was no response, Cas's breathing easy and slow. Rhythmic.

"Good," Dean decided. Kicking off his boots, that was as far as he got before he decided that everything else was just too much effort. Including the light switch.

So, lights on, he slid onto "his" side of the bed.

And promptly passed out.


	5. Morning Coffee

Cas didn't want to open his eyes.

His head was already throbbing and he hadn't even faced the day yet. It was so much more comfortable where he was. The bed was soft, if that was what it was, and not only was he under some sort of covers, but he was cuddled up to something cozy and warm. And that smelled like old leather and spice, oddly enough, but he didn't mind that so much. Actually, he was growing to like it.

Yes, it was much safer to just go back to sleep and never wake up again.

Unfortunately however, with waking came the threat of thinking, even to his aching brain. And, even worse, Cas was a pretty curious guy, which meant he was eventually asking the "w" questions.

Now he just had to decide if getting up and finding his answers was going to be worth the pain.

He supposed he'd have to get up eventually no matter what he argued however, so with a slight sigh, he allowed his eyes to slowly peel open.

At first, the blinding light of the day was almost potent enough to render him unwilling. It shot to his head and stirred his hangover far too swiftly. But after a few seconds of nauseating focus, he was eventually able to keep his eyes open, though perhaps with them blinking numerous times.

He couldn't see much however. Mostly because there was some kind of black fabric directly in front of him. And as he examined it more closely, he realized it was moving in and out.

Breathing.

Leather and spice…

A black t-shirt…

Cas's eyes bulged painfully inside his skull.

Half of him wanted to bolt upright while the other was screwed in place. Why? Because now that he understood where exactly he was and what, or who rather, was giving off so much warmth, he was even more aware of the fact that not only was he nuzzled up to this… individual, but that its arms were wrapped quite securely around him.

Dean Winchester was cuddling with him!

No, he needed to calm down. Think about this rationally. Certainly there was some kind of logic to be salvaged.

Yet somehow his mind was still foggy, and not just because of his severe, horrible hangover. No, he had the feeling, due to the buzzing in the back of his head, that he was also still slightly drunk.

Well, that would certainly impair his judgment.

No, focus. Focus on the Dean situation.

 _Dean Winchester_!

Taking a deep breath, Cas tried to fight through the haze and come up with a plan. One that, best case scenario, would allow him to escape Dean's embrace without waking the man. He didn't know how possible that was however. Was Dean a heavy sleeper? A light one? He had no idea.

It was all looking rather hopeless.

Brows furrowed in concentration, Cas wiggled slightly in place, trying to see if he could maybe slide downward and out of Dean's arms. But even as he did, the man beside him stirred. Cas froze

He could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment.

Why? Because this could be potentially disastrous! It was one thing for Dean to apologize for once being homophobic. It was quite another for him to wake up sleeping, quite intimately, with a gay man. Most straight guys wouldn't be able to handle that.

Dean had stilled again however, Cas allowing himself to breathe. Lips tight, he was about to try again, being as careful as he could, when a sudden screeching echoed in his already sensitive ears. He couldn't help the way he flinched, turning back into Dean defensively as it frazzled and shook his already delicate brain.

And it just kept  _going_.

"Make it stop!" Dean groaned above him, Cas far too injured by the offending scream as he burrowed into Dean's chest. Maybe if he dug deep enough, he'd be able to get away from it. It was just so… loud.

Dean had a similar idea, apparently, his arms tightening around Cas as he buried his face in the other man's hair.

Just let it stop…

And after some few agonizing seconds, it finally did.

The room was silent and both of them slowly allowed their bodies to relax.

But, with both of them now awake, that could only last so long.

Blue eyes blinking back open, Cas felt Dean tense around him, which made him react in much the same way. Yet neither of them dared move yet. Instead, wide-eyed, they stared straight ahead at whatever was directly in front of them and tried to figure out what exactly they  _should_  do.

What was acceptable for this kind of situation?

Because it'd have been one thing if they'd simply woken up on the bed together. Like any good drunks, they'd be, perhaps, sprawled out or set up in rather lazy positions. But that  _wasn't_  the case, sadly. No, they were chest-to-chest, as close as they could get, legs tangled in both each other and the sheets.

This was  _not_  normal.

Yet before the situation could be considered more deeply, that agonizing scream started up once again.

More in control of himself now, Cas was able to pinpoint what it was, and where it was coming from. Reaching as swiftly as his arms could go, he dug his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

The perfect excuse.

Pushing through how it rang, Cas used the opportunity to sit up, Dean's arms falling stiffly away. His bottom half was still caught up in the blankets, but he was able to disentangle himself from Dean, though the other man was still practically on top of him.

He pulled his phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, his voice severely gravelly, even for him.

"Castiel, honey," it was his mother. He tried not to flinch at the sound of her sharp voice. "I called you a minute ago, and when you didn't pick up, I called Chuck. He said you're at Dean Winchester's?" She sounded curious. "At Kenrick apartments?"

"Yes," Cas verified, trying not to dwell on the fact for too long.

"Well, do you think you could stop by the post office on your way back? You're in the area anyway I think, and I'm not going to be heading out that way today. There should be a package there for me."

"Sure," Cas agreed without really considering what his mother was saying. "Thank you Castiel," she replied. "I really appreciate you doing that."

"Of course."

"I'll see you in a little while. And don't forget it's cookie night."

"Right," Cas, again, agreed without thinking. "Bye mom."

"Bye honey."

She hung up.

And then, slowly, so did Cas.

Hand lowering, he gradually replaced his phone in his pocket, forcing his breath to be even despite how he avoided looking back at Dean. He could tell that the other man had sat up, was basically directly behind him, but he had no idea what to say. Or do. Or think.

This kind of thing wasn't exactly his forte.

Thankfully, Dean seemed to be recovering a little faster, as far as social expectations were concerned.

He released a deep breath. "So…" his voice wasn't faring any better than Cas's. "I'm gonna go… to the bathroom…" Yeah, that sounded like a pretty valid excuse. Pausing for only a moment, Dean, lips pursed, eventually got to his feet, shucking off the blankets on the way. He didn't look back at Cas as he exited the bedroom. Or couldn't perhaps. Instead, he bee-lined it for the toilet.

Closing the door behind him, Dean went immediately to the sink and simply stared down at it.

He was trying to get his thoughts in order.

So, he and Cas had drank. Right. Then… Chuck and Samandriel? Yeah, it must have been them. They'd given him a ride home. And somehow Cas had ended up staying at his place.

That's right, he'd passed out on the bed.

And then so had Dean.

So at some point during the night, they'd ended up… closer.

Yeah, that was all. Nothing to be worked up about. It was all fine. Totally cool. Just him and another dude… cuddling… Yeah, that happened.

Shit.

Dean didn't have time to consider it much further however. Ears trained on the room outside, he heard a thumping noise, like someone tripping, and he suddenly remembered that yes, Cas was still there. In his apartment.

What must Cas think? There he was, hiding in the bathroom after waking up next to him? Great Dean, way to really deal with that one. Fact of the matter was, he didn't want Cas to be mad at him, or offended by him. Maybe what had happened wasn't normal, but that didn't matter at the moment. No, first he had to march back out there and make Cas feel…

Welcome?

He didn't know! He just had to do something!

Pushing himself from against the sink, Dean whipped around a little too quickly, caught himself, blinked, and pulled the bathroom door back open. Stalking out, he looked around for Cas and spotted him right away.

He looked to be headed for the door, but had come to a dead halt when Dean had reappeared. And as he took in those blue eyes, Dean was granted an expression he hadn't seen in a long time. That was, Cas with his mouth slightly agape, cheeks pale, and looking absolutely terrified.

Only the last time he'd seen that face, Raphael had been beating the guy.

Now it was Dean he was afraid of.

For the first time ever, Dean realized that, all through their high school years, Cas had  _never_  looked at him like that. Yes, when he'd been being bullied, he'd fallen into that expression, but not once had it been directed at his way.

Dean didn't like it. Not at all.

"Hey, Cas," he took a step forward. "It's okay." He wasn't even sure what he was saying. "Don't… freak out… or anything." Still that expression stuck, Dean trying to find the magic words that would relieve it. "Really, it's not a big deal," he gestured to the bedroom. "It happens…"

Only it didn't.

Still no reaction from Cas however, who seemed to be frozen, staring at him.

"I'm not mad," Dean finally said. "I'm not mad at you." So please, stop looking at him like he'd just killed an angel or something. Christ.

Slowly then, Cas's jaw came up, his mouth closing. And though his eyes still looked as uncertain as ever, his fear leaked away to be replaced by tension, which was better than previous Dean supposed.

There was a momentary silence when Dean tried to come up with what to do next.

"I, uh," Dean glanced to the kitchen. "I was just going to get some coffee going, if you're interested. You know, for the hangover." Cas didn't appear totally convinced. "It'll help, so…" Taking in those blue eyes for just a moment longer, he then turned and made his way to the coffee pot. Ignoring the silence behind him, he focused on putting the filter in. On getting the water and the grounds. On listening to it bubble once he'd turned it on.

He pursed his lips, aware that he was nervous.

Yet still he heard nothing out of Cas and he knew, based on the guy's social confusion, that he'd have to be the one to… say something, do something. Get Cas to understand that he could relax.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned, taking Cas in his sights once again. He was still standing in the same place on the other side of the apartment, though his gaze was more suspicious now than anything else. Whatever was going through his head, he didn't trust Dean about it. Which was probably pretty reasonable.

"You can sit down," Dean gestured to the dining room table. Cas didn't respond right away. He narrowed his eyes further, still guarded, and, after some seconds of staring at Dean, finally pushed his feet across the apartment to the table. Pulling out the chair, he never took his eyes from Dean as he sat down in the chair farthest away.

Cas didn't understand what was going on. He and Dean, well, they weren't even friends. They were barely acquaintances. It'd have been different, say, if he'd woken up cuddling with Chuck, or Balthazar. They'd have laughed it off and made a joke. But Dean… Dean shouldn't be taking it this well.

No straight guy that didn't know Cas would be taking what had happened  _this well._ At the very least, he should have been awkwardly ushered from the apartment, not asked to stay for coffee. Best-case scenario, Dean had developed an open mind and wasn't in the least bit offended by Cas having cuddled with him all night. That didn't make the situation any more acceptable.

It was like having a one-night stand without the… sex part. Like getting all the bad without any of the good. Only one didn't make coffee and try to be cordial about it. Unless, of course, Dean  _wanted_ them to be friends.

He supposed that could work, make a valid argument. Yet even for that, Cas wasn't totally convinced.

It was just too… weird.

He didn't understand.

"I'm assuming you drink coffee," Dean was saying. He'd turned back to the counter and was pulling two mugs from the cupboard. "You look like the type that would." Cas didn't respond, supposing that would just have to be answer enough seeing as his voice was nowhere to be found.

Pouring two cups, Dean set one down on one side, presumably where he would sit, before coming around and placing the second mug before Cas. As he did however, he seemed to give the other man a once over before smirking.

"You know, I hadn't realized that you made your hair messy on purpose," he started. "But I see now that you must because you've got a serious case of bedhead." And then he did something Cas hadn't expected in the least. He reached up and pressed down on Cas's hair, probably the part that was out of control.

The touch wasn't overly sensual or anything out of line, but that didn't change the fact that Dean was reaching out and attempting to fix Cas's hair. The effort was futile, Dean giving up a few moments later, but that didn't change that it had happened.

Cas hadn't had any idea how to react, so he hadn't. He'd frozen under the touch, his eyes growing wider as tension overtook his whole body. If Dean had noticed however, he didn't give any hint to as much as he walked back around the table and sat down in his own seat. His green eyes were focused on his mug, not his companion. Which was probably good because Cas was sure he looked absolutely petrified.

After all, what else could he be?

Dean had come up and touched him. And not in a "hey buddy" kind of way. That aside, there was still the fact that  _they weren't friends_! Even if they'd been hanging out for a few days and were relatively familiar with each other, which they  _weren't_ , reaching up and fondling someone's hair was still passing some kind of personal boundary.

Cas just didn't understand!

Why was this happening?

_Why was it happening?!_

"Your coffee's gonna get cold you know," Dean commented, surging Cas out of his thoughts. Slowly allowing the words to register, Cas still failed to verbally respond, but was able to reach forth and take the cup. Avoiding Dean's eyes, he sipped and tried to ignore the throbbing in his skull, which wasn't aided by Dean's behavior.

Unfortunately, probably due to his own discomfort, no attempts at further conversation were made on either part. Dean looked like he might say something on a few occasions, but as soon was he took in Cas's eyes, he'd falter, stop, and purse his lips. There was even a few times when annoyance tripped across his face, but it was quickly overtaken by sympathy. Mostly because it was blatantly obvious that Cas was distressed.

Nothing he'd tried to say would have alleviated that. Mostly because he didn't know how to go about doing so.

Thus they sat in silence until their mugs were empty.

Dean sighed.

Cas finally gulped and located his voice.

"I should go," he decided, still not looking at Dean. "My mother is expecting me to pick something up for her." It was a lame excuse, mostly because his mother hadn't given him a time. But Dean didn't know that.

"Oh…" Dean looked to the side. "Alright…" Rising from his seat, he reached over and took Cas's cup, attempting to not feel terribly put-off by his attitude. This was Castiel Novak after all, socially awkward dweeb.

Yes, he'd thought it and Dean quickly reprimanded himself for referring to the guy as such, even in his head. But for crying out loud…

Lips pursed, Cas slowly rose from his seat, not taking in Dean's stare once he'd turned again to face him. Instead, he simply trailed the other man's movements as he walked across the room, presumably to the door.

Cas followed.

And Dean took a deep,  _patient_  breath. He shoved his irritation into the pit of his stomach and wondered vaguely if he'd even see Cas again. And why he cared so much whether he did or not.

"Well…" he wasn't exactly sure what to say as he reached for his door, opening it. "Glad you stayed for coffee." And Cas said absolutely nothing at all. Because that really eased the awkwardness. Dean almost rolled his eyes.

Cas, feeling somewhat ashamed of his behavior now that he was more in control of himself, finally found the guts to glance up at Dean as he walked out. Turning, he faced the man now standing in the doorway, trying to configure something to say.

Anything.

"It was good," was all he could come up with, thankful that the deepness of his voice did well in masking the sheepishness. Thought the fact that he'd just commented on a pot of regular coffee probably did the exact opposite.

"Yeah, sure," Dean cracked a smile then, apparently amused, before doing something even more shocking than fondling Cas's hair. He reached out, with both hands, and grabbed Cas's coat by the edge. With a gentle pull, he flattened the front before reaching up and straightening the collar, which had apparently been sticking up on one side (much like Cas's hair).

And before he pulled away from the already shocked man before him, his hand came up and quickly brushed Cas's cheek, an amused smirk gracing his lips.

"You really got some peach fuzz goin' on," he finally withdrew his arm. "Guess it had to come in eventually." Normally, such words might have been taken as an insulting joke, something Cas would glare at him for, but the way he said it didn't insinuate that intention. No, there was a quiet kind of tenderness, a tone that Cas only registered in the back of his mind.

Mostly because his thoughts were more intent on other factors. One factor in particular, actually. One that echoed in his head with Anna's feminine voice. Advice she'd given him some many years ago.

" _Because Cas,_ " she'd been exasperated. " _When a guy touches you like that, it totally means he's into you._ "

When a guy touches him the way Dean was. Lightly, softly, without any clear intentions.

When Dean touched him…

That thought was all Cas could register. Other variables tried to filter in, but they weren't strong enough to overcome Anna's logic.

And because of that, and the slight drunkenness he was still suffering from, Cas did something he'd probably regret for the rest of his life.

Abruptly stepping forward, he reached out and grabbed Dean by the fabric of his shirt. Those green eyes went wide with surprise, but Cas barely registered the reaction as he tugged Dean closer.

Eyes forced shut, he didn't even hesitate. No, he simply pushed forward and slammed his lips into Dean's.

He kissed him.

The connection didn't last long. Just long enough actually for Dean to register what was happening. Because as soon as he did, Cas had pulled harshly away with a gasping breath.

Those shocked, scared blue eyes blinked at him, but Dean, mouth hanging open, was speechless.

Again.

Cas couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"Sorry," the word came quickly to his tongue, an attempt to recover what little he'd just destroyed. But that combined with his terror created only one solution. That was, the sudden need to escape. Very quickly.

Turning, Cas practically jogged away, rounding the corner to the stairs and bolting down.

Dean was alone by the time he was able to catch his breath. He dragged his eyes down and around the hall, but there was nothing.

Cas was gone.

**oOo**

What had he done?

Oh  **shit** ,  _what_  had he  _done_?!

"I kissed  _Dean Winchester_ …"

He didn't even realize he was talking to himself. Probably.

He'd been asking himself the same question for the last forty minutes, and giving himself the same answer equally. He probably appeared rather insane as he walked down the street, his mother's package held under his arm. But he didn't pass anyone so it hardly mattered. Not that he actually had the focus enough to care.

It was for this reason that he found himself outside his parents' house without any clear understanding of how he got there. He realized however, as he stared up at the front door, that he'd better pull himself together. He couldn't walk into the pastor's house mumbling about kissing another man.

Forcing his head to take his heed, he pushed himself through the front door.

As he walked in, his mother, who was in the kitchen and heard him come in, came walking out to greet him as he slipped off his shoes. If she noticed his pale, tight face, she didn't comment on it as she took the package from where he'd set it on the floor.

"I'm glad you're finally home," she started, Cas about to head up to his room and collapse in a heap of despair, but supposing it'd be kind of rude to ignore her. So he trailed her into the other room.

"I could use some help getting these cookies done," she explained, Cas shucking off his jacket to reveal his yellow sweater. He set the article on the back of a chair in the adjacent dining room. "They need to be at the church by tomorrow morning."

Joining her in the kitchen, Cas surveyed the job she'd done so far. There were sugar cookies in the oven, on waiting trays, stacked up on plates and on platters. It'd been a long time since his mother had made this many cookies. Mostly because, during this time of year, she and his father were in Chicago. But this was the first year in ten that  _his_  father would be overseeing the church goings on. Generally it was Pastor Raguel who dealt with Christmas, seeing as he was there, in town. He was also Raphael's father, which was another reason for Cas to not want to step foot in that church ever again, among his numerous others.

In any case, his mother was at work making hundreds of cookies because they'd be given away at the homeless shelters there and in nearby towns. It was something that usually one or two families did, and this year his mother had volunteered. When he'd been younger, she'd volunteered nearly every year and he'd always been sentenced to a day and night of baking and frosting. It was the equivalent of torture at times.

But he supposed he'd cease from complaining this year, seeing as he hadn't done it in ten.

"I also invited Chuck and Samandriel over to help frost later," she continued as she busied herself around the kitchen. Somehow, despite the messy doings baking involved, her dark sweater and black slacks were clean. Which reminded him that he'd been wearing the same outfit since yesterday morning. "It'll be just like when you guys were in high school," she smiled over at him. "I thought you'd enjoy that."

Cas tried to smile, but his hangover was making it difficult. Instead, he reached for one of the naked sugar cookies stacked up beside him and took a bite.

"I also," his mother appeared abruptly thoughtful, her head cocking to the side slightly, "invited Dean Winchester." Cas nearly choked on his cookie, some of the crumbs dropping to the floor from between his lips. Thankfully, he'd been quiet about it and his mother hadn't noticed. She was taking a tray of freshly baked morsels from the oven.

"When you didn't pick up your phone the first time this morning, I called Chuck and he said you were 'crashing' at Dean Winchester's." Which must have been when she'd called the second time. Turning to look at her son again, who was trying to hide his shock and inability to properly eat a cookie, she cast him a curious look. "I didn't know you and him were friends."

"You called him?" Cas finally sputtered.

"Of course," she returned her attention to some of the cookie dough on the counter. "I got his number from Bobby. I figured that if he's a friend of yours, then he could come over and help too." Cas's eyes bugged. "That poor boy. I bet he gets lonely."

"You invited him over?" Cas wasn't sure if his heart could handle the pressure.

"Yes Castiel," his mother furrowed her eyebrows at him in disapproval. "What's wrong with you?" he didn't answer. "In any case, I told him he could come over around five."

"Wait," Cas tried to comprehend what she was saying. "He agreed to come? Here?" With him? After what had happened that morning?

" _Yes_  Castiel," his mother sounded almost scolding, her hands going to her hips. "Is there a problem with that? I thought you were friends with him. You did 'crash'" must have been Chuck's word, "at his apartment last night, didn't you?"

That was one way to put.

Cas didn't reply and his mother shook her head.

"Like I was saying," she tried, again, to get back to her cookies. "I need help, so why don't you go upstairs, put on some clean clothes," because it was obvious he'd slept in the ones currently on him, "and get back down here, alright?"

Cas, defeated and confused, nodded before turning and slumping his way through the house. Reaching the stairs, he dragged himself up every single one, his mind numb. All of it… it was just too much. He didn't get it.

Dean was coming over?

After what he'd done?

 _Why_  was this happening…?

Reaching the hallway, Cas detoured to his old bedroom and, without much gusto, pushed his way inside.

He nearly died of a shock-induced heart attack.

"Surprise!" she screamed far too loudly for his hungover senses and Cas nearly tumbled back out the door trying to get away from her. "Oh, hey, Cas, are you alright?" The two of them rushed to his side, hauling him into the room.

"I'm fine," he replied gruffly, shaking them off. "What are you two doing here?" He easily overcame the shock, mostly because "surprise shock" was much easier to deal with than "emotional shock."

Both Anna and Balthazar grinned.

"Your parents flew us down," she explained. "They said that, since they'd spent nearly all of the last ten years celebrating Christmas with us, it wouldn't be the same if we weren't there." Because Anna and Balthazar were like his family away from family. And when his parents had been visiting, they'd all spent the holiday together.

"They flew you?" Cas asked, his brain only getting more and more frazzled as the day went on.

"Sure did," Balthazar flopped back down on Cas's bed. "Nice town by the way. Very… quaint." Neither Anna nor Cas could tell if he was being insulting or not.

"We're so happy to be here," Anna tried to remain positive. "It's nice to see where you grew up." The two of them had both grown up in Chicago, so the town of Burr must be a new experience for them. "And your mother said some of your old high school friends were coming over? To… frost cookies?"

Cas groaned, deciding not to make a big deal about the funds his parents had spent flying his two best friends in from Chicago.

"Yes, Chuck and Samandriel," Cas flopped down on his bed face first, eyes closed as he tried to puzzle things out in his head.

"Thought she said there were three," Balthazar commented and Cas groaned again. His two friends glanced to each other with furrowed brows, entirely surprised at their friend's reaction. Honestly, they'd assumed he'd be happier to see them. As happy as Cas could get anyway.

"Cas, honey, what's wrong?" Anna finally asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

At first, Cas didn't answer, wanting to pretend he was back in Chicago and that none of this had happened. But avoiding reality wasn't going to get him anywhere, especially when "reality" was coming over to frost Christmas cookies later.

He sighed.

"I did something stupid," he explained.

"I find that hard to believe," Balthazar replied seriously. Cas wasn't exactly known for making unadvised decisions. By contrast, he was generally the type that overthought everything, over analyzing every detail and still failing to understand.

"Cas, what happened?" Anna's sense of comfort took over and she sank down on the bed beside him. "Also…" because she'd smelled it on him when he'd nearly fallen over and they'd caught him, "have you been drinking?"

Cas nodded against the pillow, eyes still closed.

"Again, hard to believe," Balthazar stated.

"What did you do Cas?" Anna sounded a little less sympathetic, mostly because she also wasn't a drinker and no doubt disapproved of the idea of Cas partaking.

Cas mumbled into his pillow.

"What?" they both said.

"I kissed Dean Winchester…" he said a little louder.

Eyebrows furrowing, his two friends took a moment to consider his words, both of them glancing to one another before the name finally rang a distant bell in the back of their heads.

"You mean that fine gentlemen you pointed out in your high school yearbook?" Balthazar asked. "The one you… oh…"

"Wait, he's that guy you said you were in love with back in high school, right?" Anna asked, catching onto Balthazar's train of thought. "What do you mean you 'kissed' him? I thought he was straight?" Neither one of them commented on the fact that he was going around kissing Dean behind Michael's back. It hardly seemed important at the moment.

"He is," Cas reasoned. "I don't know why I did it…" Well, he knew  _why_ , he just didn't understand why he'd lost control. Or why Dean had then agreed to come over and hang out with him for a night. It didn't make any sense…

"Well… what happened?" Anna continued to inquire. "Did he freak out on you? Like he did back when you guys were in high school?" She was using her ass-kicking voice, like she was honestly going to go rip Dean a new one if he'd responded badly. But Cas had been gone long before the chance for that had come up. Yet even if Dean had decided to respond poorly, Cas wouldn't have blamed him.

It's not like he'd provided a warning.

Taking a deep breath, Cas gradually rolled over until he was on his back. Staring up into his friends' concerned faces, he slowly, deliberately, explained to them the few interactions he'd had with Dean since he'd come home, leaving out details like Raphael and sticking primarily to the "only Dean" parts.

They listened dutifully until Cas got to the end, whereupon he sighed and finished by mentioning how his mother had invited Dean over later. And that he'd seemingly agreed to come.

When finally he was silent again, so too were his friends. Considerately, they carefully gathered the pieces together before glancing to each other. They both knew they'd come to the same conclusion. It was just how they should break it to Cas that they were wavering on.

"Here, Cas, let my try and get this straight," Anna eventually started. "You came here, happened to meet up with this guy, and he apologizes to you for acting like an ass." Cas didn't have to nod. Instead, he stared sadly up at the ceiling. "Then, he meets you at a bar and buys you a drink." Or seven. At this, her distressed friend glanced over at her with furrowed brows. That wasn't how he'd interpreted it. "Then, you go home with him," again, not how he'd seen it, "and you two end up falling asleep together."

"You're making this sound very different than what I said," Cas tried to object, but Anna wasn't going to have any of it.

"When you wake up, he doesn't freak out, he offers you coffee. Then, he messes with your hair and fixes your jacket." He'd left out the facial hair comment. "Then you kissed him."

Cas nodded.

"And now he's willingly coming over to spend time with you," and all his friends, but that was neither here nor there apparently.

"Cas, honey," Anna tried not to sound too patronizing. "It sounds like this Dean guy has a thing for you."

"No," Cas wasn't going to have any of it. "That's impossible.

"I'm going to have to agree with Anna," Balthazar decided. "You said you weren't even friends, but he's agreed to come over to your house, by invitation of your mother, to get cozy with you? Pretty obvious Cas."

"He's straight."

"Apparently not," Balthazar disagreed.

"Cas, you kissed him," Anna reminded. "If he wasn't interested in you, then there's no way he'd agree to come over to  _your_  house. Especially if he was straight. He's into you."

"No, he's not," Cas sat up abruptly, ignoring how his brain rocked. He looked pointedly at the two of them. "That's  _impossible_." Giving no room for argument, he stood and pushed through the nausea. Going to the hallway, he didn't even bother to look back before he grabbed a towel from the closet and shut himself up in the bathroom.

He took a deep, steadying breath.

Then he gulped.

Dropping his towel on the counter beside the sink, he plopped himself down on the toilet seat before leaning back and closing his eyes. He forced his brain to calm, to settle, and slowly started to pick apart what had happened in the course of one short morning.

As had already been established, he'd kissed Dean. And now that very man had agreed to come over to his house and frost cookies with him. Without any apparent convincing.

He didn't understand…

Of course, if he took Anna and Balthazar's view, then it all made sense. But that… he couldn't let himself even fathom the idea. He'd gone through over half his high school career controlling himself, never letting himself think about it. The idea of him and Dean. And for a few years after, when he'd been attending school in Chicago, he'd still found himself thinking of Dean.

But now he was past that. He was living his own life far, far away from Burr and everyone there.

So why was the suggestion that Dean could… feel something for him scare him so much? He was over him, right?

Yeah, that's why he'd kissed him.

Cas wasn't the type to lie to himself. He could try, but generally it never worked. Fact of the matter was, he'd never forgotten Dean. He'd moved on, yes, but he'd never gotten over him. It was impossible, letting go of his first love – painful as the memories may be.

But that was just what it was. A memory. Not even that. A fantasy.

It couldn't be real. It just couldn't.

Cas wouldn't even know how to react, what to do if Dean did… have feelings, or something, for him. It was a prospect he'd never allowed himself to indulge in. It'd been too painful. Because the truth had always been spelled out. Dean Winchester would never want him.

He  _didn't_.

Cas refused to believe it.

There was just no way.


	6. Painting Sweaters

"Balthazar, what are you doing?" Anna's voice was scolding before she'd even gotten a proper answer. She was sitting on Cas's bed, arms crossed over her breasts, watching Balthazar open and close the drawers to Cas's desk. Correction – his old desk. His childhood desk. "You shouldn't be snooping," though she wasn't trying terribly hard to stop him.

"I'm not doing any harm," Balthazar replied as he started rummaging through one of Cas's old drawers. "This is all stuff from when he was young, so it's not like he's got anything to hide." Anna supposed he was right, but that didn't make it okay. "In any case, I'm not finding anything… of… interest…" Balthazar had paused, his hand pulling something brown and thick from the back of his current drawer.

Anna knew what it was as soon as she saw it.

"Look at this," Balthazar was grinning as he turned to her, the notebook held up in his hand. "Cas's old diary. Of course  _he'd_  have kept one." It was something Cas would probably do. "Say we take a look?" He wasn't really asking as he plopped down on the bed beside Anna.

She rolled her eyes, but didn't stop him as he cracked open the book to a random page. They weren't too worried about being caught. Cas would probably be in the shower for a while.

"January 23, 2001," Balthazar started, grinning all the while, and Anna was listening intently despite her disapproval. She wasn't really expecting much however; Cas was a pretty open-book most of the time. "My new school is okay," the reading started. "I don't really care much for Burr at the moment, but Mom and Dad are happy with the new house, and the church is nice, so I guess I won't complain. I sat with two boys at lunch today, one named Chuck and the other Samandriel. They were nice I think, and asked if I wanted to sit with them again tomorrow. I said yes."

"Isn't this sweet?" Balthazar turned the page as he spoke. "Little ole Cas writing down his feelings."

"Either read or shut up," Anna reprimanded.

Balthazar skipped ahead a few more pages, stopping when he got to a particularly large entry. Most of the others were small, blurb-like, but this one appeared a great deal more significant.

"February 3, 2001 –

Something incredible happened today. I don't quite know how to explain it, or even what to think really. I've never felt this feeling before, like I know someone even though we've never said two words to each other. I don't even know his name, but I saw him walking down the hall today. It was like, as I watched him, I was remembering watching him before. Like I knew him from somewhere. I tried to remember from where, but I'm pretty sure that today was the first time I'd seen him. I want to try to talk to him, whoever he is. I've never wanted to get to know someone so badly in my life, like I'm being pulled. I need to talk to him."

"Wow…" Anna hummed thoughtfully. "That's some pretty potent stuff."

"Shhh, I'm reading," Balthazar shushed and she glared at him.

"February 6, 2001 –

I learned his name today. Not because I asked him, but because he just switched into my biology class. His name is Dean Winchester. And that's not all. He sits next to me! We're lab partners. Because I'm new and he was late to the class. I was so nervous when he sat down next to me, but I don't know why. It was like there was this-"

"Alright, stop," Anna placed her hand over the diary. "It's getting a little personal I think." It was one thing to read about Cas's everyday thoughts and quite another to indulge in one of the few things he hated talking about, even then.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Balthazar agreed, flipping through the pages without any real intent. Yet despite how he knew he should close the book and put it away, a later page caught his attention and he flipped back to it. Like the other's previously, it was a longer passage, but what had drawn Balthazar's attention wasn't the text, but the marks marring it.

Spots on the paper. Water stains over ten years old.

Anna had spotted it too, glancing up at her friend only quickly before deciding it was okay to read against her better judgment. Human curiosity.

"August 4, 2001," Balthazar started, a little quieter in his reading than he had been before. "It's not getting any easier at school. I was hoping that this year would be different than how the end of last was. But it's already worse. Raphael won't leave me alone and I don't know how to get rid of him. Or even hide from him. He always finds me.

"That's not the worst though. Raphael is horrible, but I just wish Dean wasn't always there to see it. I don't want him to see how scared I am. I know he thinks it's funny, he laughs, but he's not the same as Raphael. He never actually touches me, even though he does get rough with some of the other guys I know. But never me. Sometimes I wish he would, so that I'd know he was just like the rest of them. That way I could get over him. I don't know why I still like him so much, but I can't help it." The writing here started to get hard to read, like the writer had been struggling. "I don't know what it is, and I'm afraid to discuss it with Chuck and Samandriel, they'll think I'm crazy.  _I_  think I'm crazy.

"But I feel like I have this connection with Dean that he's ignoring. That's why he doesn't touch me. He senses it too and he… he hates me for it, I know. Maybe it's farfetched to believe in soul mates, I don't know, but I don't have any other way of describing it. What else could it be? I feel like I know him even though I don't, and it hurts. It hurts so much because I know he hates me already and he'd hate me even more if he knew the truth. I just don't understand why it has to be like this? Why-" And the line died, like it couldn't be continued.

"That's some intense stuff, even for a teenager," Balthazar commented quietly, Anna silent. Eventually he looked up at her, his eyebrows furrowed. "Do you believe in soul mates?"

She considered his question. "I don't know," she sighed. "I believe in energy. That we all have a certain energy that vibrates with everyone else's, and that some of us jive better with others. But soul mates…? I think I like the idea, but it's so… impractical…"

"Cas told me once," Balthazar started, "that he didn't believe in soul mates. That it wasn't a rational thing to search for." And they both realized then, because they'd both heard Cas say as much, that such a speech wasn't the result of logic, but of hurt. It was Cas's way of defending himself against the ache of Dean Winchester. Because if this diary and his reaction to the suggestion that this Dean guy might be interested in him said anything, it was that the pain, though buried and covered, was still fresh somewhere inside Cas. They'd seen it in his posture when he'd left, stomped out the door. In his concern over what had happened between the two that morning. All those feelings he'd kept locked away as a teenager.

No wonder he didn't want to consider the idea.

"I've never heard him talk about Michael like this…" Balthazar muttered.

"He was young when he wrote this," Anna reasoned. "You can't compare high school Cas to now Cas. I mean…" Her defense faltered. "This was a long time ago…"

"What was a long time ago?" Both Anna and Balthazar jumped to their feet, turning swiftly to see that Cas had come back through the door. His hair was a jumbled, wet mess, but he was dressed anew in a pair of gray slacks, a white button up shirt, and a maroon over-sweater, the sleeves a little too long for him.

"Uh…" Shit, they'd been caught. "We were just…" Balthazar couldn't come up with anything to say, mostly because he was holding the diary behind his back with no feasible way of hiding it from Cas.

They were probably better off just being honest.

"Here," Balthazar sighed and held out the book. "We were reading this." They both stared down at the carpet, ashamed, as Cas slowly retrieved the old diary. "Apologies…"

"Where did you find this?" Cas was staring down at it curiously, not offended as of yet.

"In your desk," Anna admitted. A silence fell over them for a moment, the only sound being Cas flipping through the pages of the old diary. He paused every now and then, as if browsing, but eventually allowed the cover to fall shut.

He sighed.

"I majority of the entries in this are about Dean Winchester," he confirmed.

"Yeah, we noticed…" Balthazar replied, still looking rather sheepish, though both he and Anna had found the guts to look up by this point.

"What did you read?" Cas's voice was still oddly open, not irritated or annoyed, and he carelessly tossed the diary onto the bed. "It's alright," he was refusing to look at them however, instead staring down at the book. "You can ask me about it if you want." He sounded… oddly defeated.

Anna frowned.

"Well, we weren't going to ask you anything," Balthazar rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Though you did seem a little, I guess, serious for a teenager in some of those entries."

Cas cocked a single eyebrow, but didn't reply. Instead, after a pause, he rounded the bed, passing by his two friends, and went to his closet. Reaching into the corner, they both watched curiously as he pulled what looked like a large, dusty sketchpad from the back. It wasn't terribly big, maybe one size larger than average, and Cas brushed it off before handing it to Anna.

"You won't know him, you've never met him, but most of what's in that is Dean," he started to explain, pulling his gaze away before he sank down into the bed. Anna and Balthazar, by contrast, slowly cracked open the old sketchbook, sifting through the pages. Pages that were generally filled with only one face. A young face, one with high cheekbones, a sharp jaw and chin. Big, severe eyes. They were sketchy, none of them colored, but that didn't mean they weren't realistic and emotional all the same.

"You drew these of him?" Balthazar asked. "How'd you ever get away with that?" Because carrying around a bigger than normal sketchbook filled with pictures of the same person over and over was _bound_  to draw attention. Especially in a high school.

"I didn't," Cas replied flatly, staring straight ahead. Blank. "I drew all of those from memory." They glanced over at him, surprise painting their faces as they paused in their browsing. "Dean's the only person I've ever been able to draw without a reference, and get it correct.

"It was like my hand just knew the shape and curves of his face. No thought necessary." Like his hands had always known. He'd drawn hundreds of pictures of Dean in high school, all of which were either destroyed or stashed away. He knew that it was probably an unhealthy or strange thing to have done, but he hadn't meant any harm by it. Back then, Dean had been his muse.

He didn't work in web design because it was his passion. He'd gone to art school in Chicago; he'd wanted to be a painter. But some things just didn't pan out. In any case, once he'd left high school, he'd forbidden himself from ever drawing Dean again. And even though it'd been painful, he'd pulled through. Five years after he'd left Burr, in a fit of failed inspiration, he'd tried to picture Dean's face and draw it again, but had failed.

There'd been nothing left and that was when he'd really realized that he'd moved on.

Back then, at least…

"I haven't drawn him in ten years," he admitted. "I did try once, but I couldn't." Anna and Balthazar had closed the sketchbook, realizing abruptly that Cas wasn't just over-sharing. He was trying to tell them something, in the roundabout way that he sometimes did when he couldn't find the right words.

"I couldn't do it," he shrugged. Bending down suddenly, he reached under his bed and pulled out his portfolio. The one he always had in New York. They'd known he was bringing it with him; he brought it whenever he travelled. And as his friends watched, he gently opened it before reaching in and pulling out a single canvas.

An oil painting, covered on its face with cheap paper.

It wasn't huge, though perhaps a few sizes bigger than the sketchbook, and Cas laid it down on the bed for them both to see, delicately pulling the cover away.

"Wow…" Anna awed, Balthazar equally as stunned. "This is amazing Cas. When did you do this?"

"About a week ago," he replied simply, voice straight. "I was up for three nights trying to get something done for work. A big project. And at the end, when it was finally over, I couldn't sleep. So I painted.

"I hardly remember doing it, but this is what I found when I woke up in the morning."

This dark, shadowed painting. Only half of a single man's face was visible, the rest shrouded, but that couldn't hide his identity. He appeared older than in the sketches, ten years older perhaps, and was sad. Very sad.

"It looks so real…" Balthazar muttered. "I mean, I know you can paint some realistic stuff Cas, but this is better than anything I've ever seen you do, in that respect." The man appeared alive on the page. Alive and dead all at the same time.

"Is this what he looks like?" Anna asked quietly. "What he looks like now?" No longer youthful and proud, but worn somehow. With light facial hair where he hadn't had any before. And those freckles, more numerous than they had been in his teenage years.

"Yes," Cas replied, his voice almost inaudible. "Exactly like that."

"And you painted this," Anna started, "before you'd seen him again…?"

"Correct."

"Just a week ago…" she was starting to understand why Cas was telling them this. Because as she pulled her eyes up to focus on her friend, both she and Balthazar started to understand how distressed he really was. He'd turned up to look at them, his blue eyes searching and confused.

He didn't understand it any better than they did.

"Ten years and I couldn't draw him…"

"But a week before you see him again and suddenly this," Anna finished, her voice breathy.

"I don't know why…" Cas's shoulders dropped. It had to be impossible. It just had to be. All of it. Dean acting the way he was, meeting up with him as he had. The painting. Impossible. Impossible. _Impossible_.

"Cas…" Anna took a step toward him, unsure what she was going to say. Yet, before she even had the chance to consider further council, there was a knock on the door.

"Castiel?" his mother. "I'm assuming by now that you've caught up with Anna and Balthazar," they could hear the smile on her face. She thought she'd done quite a surprising, sneaky thing, flying his friends in for Christmas. "Because Chuck and Samandriel just pulled in and I think they'll probably want to be introduced."

"We'll be right out Mrs. Novak," Balthazar replied quickly. Naomi "okayed" in response and no doubt walked away.

Turning their focus back to Cas, his friends were taken aback to find that he'd packed the painting away again and was shoving the portfolio back under the bed. He then grabbed the sketchbook before swiftly returning it to the closet. And when he finally did turn to them, his lips were tight, his previous confusion masked.

Masked, that was, by what looked like nausea and nerves.

"We should go downstairs," he decided and without a second's pause, he rounded the bed and was at the door. Pulling it open, he glanced back at them only quickly.

Because story-time was over.

Reality had come knocking and now that was what Cas had to deal with – despite how anxious doing so might make him.

**oOo**

Sitting back on his couch, Dean allowed his shoulders to drop as he continued to consider the situation. As he'd been doing all day. Because there was, honestly, little else he  _could_  do.

Fact. Cas had kissed him.

Okay…

Fact.

He hadn't really minded.

That was the most boggling part. He'd been shocked initially, completely caught off guard and unprepared. So much so that when Cas had apologized and run off, he hadn't realized it'd happened until he was alone. Standing in that open doorway, he'd found his mind numb, his senses frozen. After all, how was he supposed to have acted?

Well, he  _knew_  how he was supposed to have acted.

Disgusted. Repulsed. He should have no interest in ever wanting to see Cas again, not after he'd pulled a stunt like that. Yet in a few hours, he was going to get in his car (which he'd had to walk and fetch earlier that morning) and drive to the Novak's. Where Cas was.

And he was actually quite excited over the notion.

But now he knew why; he'd gone over it in his head multiple times. To be honest, he was in a sort of shock over the whole thing, but it was a… glad kind of shock, Relieving. Why?

Because he'd finally had reason to admit that, hey, maybe he liked boys too.

Maybe he liked  _Cas_.

It was both shocking to him, personally, and somehow not that unexpected. Maybe he'd known for a while, years even, but just hadn't had any real trigger to consider it. There wasn't an over abundance of gay men in Burr after all, and what few there probably were most definitely kept it to themselves.

Besides, he  _did_  like women, there was no questioning that, so he'd never been desperate for a wakeup call.

But now he'd had one.

Thinking back, he considered Cas. All those years ago when he'd plucked up the courage to march into Dean's childhood home and tell him the truth. Back then, Dean hadn't received the information well, but now that he had a broader perspective, he finally found himself wondering why. At that point in his life, he hadn't had any particular views on the homosexual lifestyle, despite what his "friends" might have thought. He'd been simply indifferent, not caring really. And when Cas had confessed to him, well… it wasn't bigotry that had lashed back.

No, Dean now realized it'd been fear.

Fear of the fact that, had he not been so afraid, he'd have been flattered.

Ever since that day, Dean had found that, between times living, he'd considered Cas every once in a while; wondered what he'd done with his life. There was just something about the guy that… caught Dean's curiosity. It always had really. Even when they'd been young, he'd been fascinated by him. In high school, that wasn't how he'd viewed it however. He'd considered Cas "weird" and had kept his distance because of it.

Not even touched him, thrown him around, once.

Cas had, honestly, made Dean uncomfortable. Now though… now he understood why.

Maybe, to a certain extent, he'd always been attracted to Cas. Even when he'd been his dweeby high school self, Cas'd been… cute. Strange, but cute. Dean could see that now.

There were many things that "now" currently preoccupied him with actually. For one, what was he supposed to do? Cas had kissed him, which seemed to Dean to be a pretty obvious sign that he was, at least, still attracted to him. How far it went, or how deeply, he couldn't know, but that wasn't exactly relevant at the moment.

Generally speaking, Dean had decided that he should deal with the situation as he would with any  _woman_ , which was where his previous experiences existed. It wasn't the actual "action" parts that got him however, but whether he even wanted to pursue Cas in the first place.

Despite coming to terms with his apparent attraction to men, it was still… new to him. Yet at the thought of going to the Novak's, of seeing Cas again – and remembering that awkward, silly kiss – Dean practically smiled. There was no doubt he at least wanted to  _see_  Cas again. So maybe he should just… go from there. Let things happen maybe.

Yeah, that seemed like a sound idea.

First thing first though, Dean thought as he glanced down at his clothes, which were still the leftovers from the day before. Despite what his brother had said, he wasn't entirely sure his clothes were good enough. For a pub, maybe they were, but some kind of Christmas event at the Novak's?

He still had a few hours left. Maybe he should go shopping or something. He was already finished with his Christmas purchases and he had a little bit left after bills. Maybe he could get something nicer, if not cheap.

Sounded like a plan.

**oOo**

"You did what?" Chuck hissed from his position beside Cas. They were sitting around the dining room table, the five of them. Only Cas was attempting to ignore everyone, his face cradled down in his arms as his hands came up around his head, pulling at his hair. He had his eyes closed, no interest in even staring at the tabletop below his nose, and was trying to ward off the constant headache thrumming against his skull.

"That's what he said he did," Anna verified, shrugging at the gaping Samandriel across from her. "And now 'Dean's' supposed to be joining us for 'cookie frosting.'" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why would he do that?" Chuck asked, leaning back in his chair curiously.

"That is the question, isn't it?" Balthazar interjected with a knowing smile, his eyes diverting back to Cas. Yet still their friend refused to even look up, let alone comment. He did find it annoying, however, how well his Chicago friends and his high school friends were getting along. Weren't they supposed to be discussing each other, feeling each other out? Why did he have to be the center of attention?

Oh, right, because he'd kissed Dean Winchester.

"So you kissed him," Samandriel gestured to Cas, who groaned a little at the actual act being brought into the conversation. "And now he's agreed to come over here… when you're here… since it's your house…" Samandriel glanced to Chuck, who shrugged.

"I… didn't know Dean swung that way…" Chuck assumed.

"He doesn't!" Cas glanced up suddenly, his deep voice severe and penetrating. Anna and Balthazar rolled their eyes. Cas, registering their expressions, slumped his shoulders before collapsing back atop the table, head cradled in his arms once more.

"I tried to tell Cas that the only reason a straight guy would consider coming here after what happened was if he  _wasn't_  straight, but he won't buy it," she shrugged. "I don't see how there's any other option however. This Dean guy has to be into him."

"I dunno…" Samandriel sounded doubtful. "Dean Winchester?" He shook his head. "He's like… the stereotypical masculine… dude. I just… he's so… heterosexual…" In his appearance, his actions. His job. As far as stereotypes were concerned, he lacked any and all "gay" qualities.

But what worth were stereotypes?

"Yeah, but, if you think about it," Chuck started thoughtfully, "he's almost hyper-masculine."

"Like he's compensating for something?" Balthazar questioned.

"Mmm, maybe…" Samandriel furrowed his brows, not having ever considered Dean Winchester in this fashion before. Now that he was though, he could almost see a bit of an exaggeration in Dean's behavior. He wasn't like Raphael; he wasn't just a douche. But he did put up this really… macho front. Granted, they lived in rural Kansas, so that wasn't exactly unheard of, but that didn't mean it wasn't worth considering either.

"Well, we'll know when he gets here if he's straight or not," Anna decided, all available eyes falling to her. "Trust me, I'll make sure of that." She smiled, deviously, the other three around the table appearing curious.

She didn't have time to explain however. Within the moment, they all heard a car door slam outside. And seeing as Cas's father was at the church till late and Naomi had only just left to go to the grocery store, it could only be one other person.

Standing abruptly, Anna headed straight from the room to the entranceway. Balthazar followed her, Chuck and Samandriel glancing only quickly to each other before rising to their feet as well. Going to the kitchen, they stood where they were able to see Anna and Balthazar, who were opening the door. Cas stayed in the dining room, head buried, pretending this wasn't happening.

"Hi!" Anna said happily, the man standing before her looking quite taken aback by how she'd flung the door open. "You must be Dean!" She smiled, her pearly white teeth all on display.

"Uh, yeah…" Dean furrowed his brows at her, a little confused by the fact that he was being greeted by some strange woman. Anna, however, ignored his discomfort in favor of giving him a once over. Because he was, well, he  _was_  attractive, that was for sure. Broad stature, muscular. Big eyes, softly chiseled face and rounded lips. Yes, she could definitely understand what Cas saw in him, as well as the fact that his painting was probably perfect down to the last freckle bridging Dean's nose.

It was beyond a little eerie.

"Come in then," Anna stepped back, nearly knocking into Balthazar as she smoothly beckoned him in. Still somewhat perplexed by the odd welcome, Dean slowly, hesitantly even, did as she asked and made his way into the strange house, wondering all the while into Cas's whereabouts.

Anna closed the door behind them.

"So," she drew Dean's attention back to her, his eyebrows raised questioningly at her. "I'm Anna," she held out her hand and Dean shook it accordingly. "And this is Balthazar," the same motion was repeated. "We're Cas's friends from Chicago."

"Oh," Dean replied somewhat lamely, not really sure what else he was supposed to say. He glanced quickly at Samandriel and Chuck, who were standing in the doorway with vague smiles on their faces. And it was then, as he dropped his attention back to Anna, that he realized they knew.

They  _all_  knew. Cas must have told them.

Lovely…

"You already know Chuck and Samandriel," she continued, ever smiling, and Dean registered somewhere in the back of his mind that she was standing awfully close to him. "Which means all that's left is Cas," she sighed. "But he's not feeling very well anyway, so why don't you hang out with me."

Wow, forward much? At least that was all Dean could think. Right there, in front of all those other guys, and she was saying that?

Was this some kind of joke?

Glancing around again, he tried to read the expressions of the other three, taking note that Samandriel and Chuck were pursing their lips they were trying so hard not to smile. And the Balthazar guy was glancing at the ground, clearly avoiding any sort of eye contact.

Dean pursed his lips. Yes, this was definitely a joke or something…

Or a test.

But why?

Glancing down at Anna again, he narrowed his eyes into her blue ones, taking note that though she acted like a flirtatious twit, her gaze was sharp with intelligence. Guarded intelligence actually, and that was when Dean realized what was going on.

These people weren't simply here to greet him. They were standing up in defense of Cas. They stood around him, watching, waiting. They didn't trust him and were getting between him and the host of the house. He supposed he didn't blame them, but it would have been nice if he hadn't been ganged up on.

Still, he could play their game.

"You know," he allowed a small, sliver of a smile to grace his lips, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned in a little closer to Anna. "You should be careful," she cocked a single brow. "I might take you up on that offer." Her entire demeanor paused then, taking him in and balancing his words.

For extra punch, he did the same as she had and looked her up and down, meeting her gaze again and adding the final, over the top touch. He winked at her.

"Well," she licked her lips, though he could see her thoughts whirring across her face. Surprise, offense, curiosity. He wasn't a people-person for nothing. "That would be interesting, wouldn't it…?" She hadn't expected him to react as casually as he had. Probably because she was a tall, intimidating, attractive redhead, and when she flirted so openly, Dean was betting most men were taken far aback.

"It really would be," he continued to smile. "Only catch is, I don't make a habit of abusing the good graces of people who invite me into their homes," he glanced around the gracious entranceway only quickly before focusing back in on her. "But, you know," he reached forward, closing much of the distance between himself and her, "if you wanted to meet up later, I might consider it." Taking hold of a long strip of her bright red hair, he ran his pointer finger through it, slowly, never taking his gaze from hers. Even as her blue eyes widened, the rest of the men in the room gaping.

Hey, he could play the game just as well.

"Think it over," he was still smiling. "In the meantime though," he allowed his hand to drop away, backing up suddenly as his demeanor became cold, "I'm going to go find Cas." Smile becoming bitter, he nodded only once before turning away and walking right past Chuck and Samandriel – further into the house.

He left behind a gaping crowd, Anna having joined in their ranks.

"Did that really just happen?" she whispered as she glanced over to Balthazar.

"Well, Anna, perhaps you shouldn't assume that your feminine wiles work on everyone," Balthazar replied with a shrug, his own gape having transformed into a smile. "It would appear that Dean Winchester is quite immune to them. Though I can't say I'm particularly surprised."

"What does that mean?" Chuck questioned.

"It means that you should all be more attentive," he replied. "Did you see his hair?" How nicely he'd gelled it. "And those bowlegs. Now, I'm not saying he's gay," he shrugged, "but boy is definitely about as  _straight_  as a paperclip."

Samandriel scoffed. "What? How can you tell?"

"You live in the city long enough, you start to develop people skills," he replied simply, both Samandriel and Chuck furrowing their brows. They weren't sure whether they were supposed to be offended or not.

Dean, however, heard none of their discussion. Rather, he'd rolled his eyes as he'd left them and instead set himself on the hunt for Cas. And, thankfully, it hadn't taken him long to locate him. Seeing him as soon as he'd entered the kitchen, he made his way across the room until he found himself in the half that was made up for dining. And there, at the end of the table with his head buried in his arms, was Cas.

Dean cocked a single eyebrow.

He supposed Cas was probably still suffering from their hangover. Dean was as well. But that aside, he also imagined there was a certain amount of mortification spurring Cas's inclination to hide. Which he could understand. Granted, he wasn't bothered by what Cas had done that morning, but that didn't make it any less gutsy or, well, inappropriate.

Apparently those were two things Cas was especially good at.

Taking a deep breath, Dean glanced down at himself self-consciously, still unsure whether he liked the black sweater he'd bought, but then decided it was too late, in any case. Ignoring it, he made his way to the table before pulling out a chair and sitting down. Cas was no doubt aware that someone was beside him, but still he failed to so much as twitch.

Dean tried to remain unaffected by the rejection, hoping it was simply Cas being too embarrassed to look up at him. Only problem was, without Cas's support, it was difficult for him to find something to say.

To somehow break the ice.

"So…" he tried to start conversation, but before he could even be given a full chance, the sound of voices coming into the room interrupted him. He sighed.

Yet from within the crook of Cas's elbow, he spotted one blue eye peeking up at him. He grinned only slightly.

"I know you'll all be able to do it," Mrs. Novak as saying as she walked into the kitchen. She was carting grocery bags with her, Chuck also lugging in two more as he followed. Not soon after, the other three trailed, detouring their way into the dining room before sitting down. Dean, defensive, half expected knowing looks or sneaky smiles, but was instead granted masks of total ambiguity.

No one was even acknowledging him.

The change in demeanor kind of slapped him across the face and it took all his control not to look around in confusion. Instead, on his toes, he decided to play everything by ear.

"It's a lot of cookies Mrs. Novak," Chuck replied as he set the bags on the counter. "Even with the six of us, it might be a stretch." He was smiling through his beard however, hinting that he was only feigning his warning.

Mrs. Novak rolled her eyes good humoredly.

"Speaking of six," she finally flashed her attention to Dean, who smiled tightly in response. "Welcome to my home Dean. I hope you've made yourself comfortable."

"It's been super Mrs. Novak," he replied, though he did cast Anna a slight glance. She refused to meet his eyes. "You have a lovely home," he returned his focus to Cas's mother.

"Thank you," she smiled a little wider. "You're welcome anytime honey. Any friends of Castiel's are welcome here." Dean didn't comment then, not entirely sure if he would even characterize him and Cas as friends. But he supposed Mrs. Novak didn't need to know that. "I'm especially glad you're here though Dean." She was looking at him in concern now, approaching from the kitchen, and Dean raised his eyebrows curiously.

"Yeah?" He wasn't exactly sure what she meant and glanced to Cas out of the corner of his eyes. But he was anything but helpful.

"Of course," Mrs. Novak was standing beside him now, Dean facing her somewhat uncomfortably. "Jim and I," Cas's father, "have considered you plenty, especially when the holidays come around." Everyone in the room was curious now, Cas even lifting his head to reveal his questioning face. His mother didn't seem to notice however.

"Really…?" Dean wasn't sure what else he was supposed to say.

"Well, we've noticed that since your parents were killed," Dean's green eyes suddenly fell to the side, "that you've kept to yourself. Your parents used to come to church every Sunday, and since they were in that accident, we haven't seen you." Dean wasn't sure, but he was pretty positive Cas was gaping beside him, everyone else in the room looking to each other nervously.

"Ah, well," Dean tried to find something to say. It would appear that Naomi had plenty enough for the both of them however. Though he was wondering if maybe it was his mother's side that Cas had inherited his social inadequacies from.

"I know you were supporting your brother through school, but we wished you would have returned to us," she frowned. "When things are hard, that's the best time to turn your attention to the lord."

"You're… totally right," Dean nodded, gulping in obvious discomfort. "I guess I was just… too busy to even think about… going to… church…" Sure, his parents had gone, but they'd never been strictly religious. It'd been more of a community thing. One that Dean hadn't considered necessary to continue. Though he probably should have expected this. He was in one of the pastor's houses after all.

"Of course you were honey," Naomi was nodding solemnly. "Putting your little brother through college," what little he'd had to pay in any case, "having to support yourself at seventeen. No one blames you. Just… know that if you ever need help, we're always here."

It'd been ten years…

"Of course," Dean smiled tightly. "I'll keep that in mind." Because he really loved all his personal grievances laid out for the entire room to examine. Awesome. Great.  _Perfect_.

"What do you do for the holidays Dean?"

"I spend them with my brother," he answered almost a little too quickly, too loudly, and took a deep breath. "He'll be here on Friday."

"Just you and Samuel?"'

"Yes," Dean tried to stop his voice from becoming too tight. "Bobby sometimes, but he has to work this year."

"He goes to Harvard, right?"

"That's right." Dean cursed Burr. He cursed all small towns. He also cursed the fact that him keeping to himself meant that when he did show up, he was barraged with the questions everyone had wanted to ask him over the last  _ten years_.

"Does he come home for the summers too?"

"No," Dean verified. "He takes summer classes."

"So you're alone almost all year…"

"Mother!" Cas's deep voice jumped into the conversation abruptly, drawing all eyes his way. "The cookies. We should start or we'll never get done." Cas, of all people, exhibiting tact. Incredible.

"Oh right, of course," Naomi turned abruptly back to the kitchen. "I need to get all that frosting whipped up." She headed over, back turned to the dining area as she rummaged through her different cupboards.

Dean, on the other hand, was sitting stock-still, facing the area where Naomi had previously been standing. He was tense, his lips tight, his green eyes clouded, and everyone else in the room watched him uncomfortably. It was apparent he hadn't appreciated the interrogation, or being so suddenly and explicitly exposed. That was twice since he's entered the house that he'd been cornered.

Maybe he  _shouldn't_  have come.

Even Cas could sense his nerves however, and, frowning, he reached out. Tugging lightly, gently, on the sleeve of Dean's sweater, he drew the other man's attention. Whipping around, Dean found himself staring into those deep, blue-blue eyes. They were concerned, understanding, and, most of all, apologetic. Cas hadn't appreciated his mother's behavior any more than Dean.

Forcing a small smile to pull at the corners of his lips, Dean took the comfort and gave it back, reassuring Cas that he wasn't really all that offended or bothered. Mostly because Cas'd had the decency to acknowledge the issue and attempt to right it in his mother's place. Which was enough for Dean. Especially because Cas was now looking at him, which Dean found made everything better. Apparently.

"Here Naomi," Anna rose abruptly from her seat. "Let me help you." Unbeknownst to Cas and Dean, everyone else at the table had watched their exchange, seen the way they'd looked at each other, and immediately realized how personal the interaction had been. Glancing around awkwardly, they'd attempted to find something else to yield their gazes, Anna being the most successful.

"Thank you Anna," Naomi said as she was joined at the counter by the other woman. Together, they started going about gathering the supplies for the frosting in a very clichéd, nineteen-fifties fashion. "You're always so helpful on the holidays. I wish Castiel would find a girl like you." The way she said such, however, made it quite apparent that she wanted Anna to be that girl.

Dean furrowed his brows, watching as Cas's eyes suddenly dropped to the table.

"Like I've said," Anna was smiling, "Cas and I are just friends." Mrs. Novak didn't look convinced however. She apparently had her own agenda when it came to her son's love life. And it was at that moment, as he glanced between Cas and Naomi, that Dean realized she didn't know.

Mrs. Novak didn't know her son was gay.

Though, thinking about it logically, Dean couldn't say he was all that surprised. Jim Novak was the pastor of a church that Dean was fully aware frowned upon the homosexual lifestyle. He supposed the only way for Cas to remain in a civil relationship with his parents was if he kept it from them. Dean couldn't even imagine that however, hiding such a huge aspect of his life from his family. From Sammy. Because he knew, if anything came of this "him being attracted to men" thing, his little brother would probably be one of the first to know.

But Cas… he lived in an entirely different state – saw his parents maybe once or twice a year. Dean supposed hiding it probably wasn't that difficult. Still though, how did that feel? Knowing that if his parents were to realize the truth, they'd… would they hate him for it?

It happened, Dean knew. Gay individuals being thrown from their family's lives over something they could do nothing about. And as Dean looked to Cas once again, at the way his whole body had dropped at the mention of him "finding a girl," he realized that such a reality was the one Cas was threatened by all the time.

Lying was the only way he was keeping his family together.

Sympathy welling up in his chest, Dean reached out and, much the same way Cas had done previously, tugged lightly on the other man's sleeve. Flicking those blue eyes back to Dean's, the tortured secret was visible for just a flashing moment before Cas pushed it back down. Dean, lips pursing, tried to get across how sorry he felt for him, that he understood, and Cas, much as Dean had previously, allowed the smallest of smiles to reach his lips. It was hardly there, but Dean could see it.

He could see it all.

"I just find it hard to believe that, living in that big city all these years, he's failed to find even one nice girl," she was still talking to Anna, almost as if Cas wasn't there. As if her will could dictate his life. "You're the only one," she sighed rather dramatically, "so my thoughts can only come to so many conclusions."

Anna smiled, but decided not to comment. No one did. At least, not on that.

"When's Jim supposed to be back?" Balthazar asked, sounding only of curiosity as he looked into the kitchen. He was hoping, as were most others in the room, that he'd be successful in changing the subject.

Naomi looked to the clock on the wall as Anna turned on the mixer, beginning to get the frosting started.

"He should be home anytime now," she started. "He said he was going to try and get back a little ear-"

She was cut off by the sound of the front door coming open.

A few moments later, a single man walked in. He was wearing a full, black suit with a very sharp looking blue tie. His coat was long, black as well, and he carried a briefcase. Graying hair atop his head, he shared in many of Cas's facial characteristics. Though his eyes were brown instead of blue. It would appear Cas had inherited those from his mother.

"Well, this is quite the crowd we have here," he started, a soft smile gracing his aged face. He had a deep voice, though not as deep as Cas's, and there wasn't any gravel to it. No, it was smooth and easy. "I knew we were going to need help, but I hadn't anticipated this many." His eyes went from one of them to the next, his gaze lingering on Dean a little longer.

"Well, Anna and Balthazar got here this morning, and I figured why not have all of Castiel's old friends over," Naomi explained as she greeted her husband, leaning up and kissing him rather tritely on the cheek. His heavy brown eyes looked to her only quickly before he focused back on the younger crowd.

"I think it's wonderful that you've all come," he decided. "It's good to know Castiel has such faithful friends." And even though they were all adults, and should be able to relate to  _other_  adults, none of the younger generation had anything to say. Rather, they just flashed Jim tight smiles.

Not fazed by the childish reaction, Jim made his way into the dining room and straight over to his son, who was watching him the whole way. Upon the two of them ending up next to one another, Jim standing between Dean and Cas, the father of the house placed his hand on his son's shoulder and continued to exhibit that vague smile.

"Sorry I haven't been around very much since you got here Castiel," he started, not attempting to hide or be ashamed of what he was apologizing for. "I've barely seen you since you've gotten here." His hand squeezed atop Cas's shoulder a little tighter.

"It's nothing you should worry yourself over Father," Cas assured. "I understand that you're busy." Dean wasn't going to deny it, this was probably the most formally awkward family he'd ever encountered. No wonder Cas was so socially inept.

"I appreciate that," Jim nodded once.

"You really have been busy," Naomi interjected, almost as though she was going to somehow alleviate the stiffness of the room with her over-exaggerated attempts. "We haven't even gotten a Christmas tree yet." There were decorations up and around the house, but no tree. Generally Jim was required to assist in that manner.

"Yes, I know," Jim's hand slipped from his son's shoulder. Cas, in turn, reached to where it'd been and unconsciously straightened his sweater. "And I'm afraid it will have to be postponed yet. I have to be back at the church in a few hours."

Naomi frowned, but it was an accepting frown. Proud even, that her husband knew his duty.

"Perhaps I can assist in that respect," Cas interjected.

"Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea," Jim had glanced back down at his son. "I suppose things aren't like they used to be," there was only a slight fondness to his expression then as he took in his son's gaze. "You're more than capable of organizing such a load on your own now. No need for me to do the heavy lifting." Considering this, Dean glanced from Jim to Cas, thinking not for the first time how much Cas had changed in the last ten years.

He wasn't that skinny little dweeb anymore, as Dean had noticed. He hadn't really considered it much farther than that however, but now that he did, he realized for the first time that Cas hadn't just filled out, but he was in… pretty good shape. Staring at him, Dean took in the way his sweater dropped over his broad shoulders, how his thin yet solid chest breathed in and out. He lacked some of the inherent breadth that Dean had, but he was in no way scrawny.

Dean forcefully pulled his green eyes back to Jim, lips tightening.

"And we'll help of course, if that's what needs to be done," Balthazar assured with a smile.

"You have my thanks," Jim nodded before glancing back to his wife. "I just stopped by to pick up those roughs I was working on last night." They were speaking above everyone else's heads. "I forgot them this morning."

"Ah, of course, Naomi headed out of the room, Jim rounding the table and following after her. "I put them in the desk and…" Her voice faded, the younger generation left on their own.

Watching his parents go, Cas visibly pursed his lips, those top-heavy, raised lips, and Dean allowed his focus to fall entirely on him. However, his heart dropped when, a few seconds later, Cas's eyes fell to the table. The blue was sad somehow, dejected, and Dean was abruptly thankful, despite how horrible it seemed, that he didn't have such a relationship with his parents.

The lies, the secrets. The shame. Yes, his parents were dead, and he hated that, but it was worse knowing that, if your parents found out who you really were, you'd be dead to  _them_.

Like a constant countdown. Paranoia. Over something Cas could do nothing about.

Dean, lips tightening, sighed, and was even more dejected when Cas closed his eyes and placed his head back in the crook of his elbows. Facedown, he shut out the world.

Dean didn't blame him.


	7. Between the Trees

"I can't believe how fast you are at doing that," Chuck was saying as they exited Naomi's black SUV. "I mean, you used that knife like a…"

"Like a paint brush?" Anna offered with a smile.

"Yeah! And each freakin cookie was a damn masterpiece," Chuck slapped Cas on the back, his old friend glancing up at him only quickly. He didn't speak however, instead allowing the conversation to carry on without him.

"Don't you know?" Balthazar secured his scarf more tightly around his neck. "Cas is a sellout." Dean, who was standing beside Balthazar and remaining awkwardly silent, furrowed his brows in questioning. He wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed to speak or not, seeing as these were all Cas's friends and not his. Because, well, not even Cas was his friend, really. He was like… a sixth wheel or something.

"Cas is quite the accomplished artist," Balthazar explained once he caught sight of Dean's expression, smiling more to himself than anything. "He's brought some pieces with him. Maybe he'd let you have a look." Cas turned and threw Balthazar a pointed look, one that meant nothing to Dean and only served to confuse him.

"Did you really bring some of your stuff?" Samandriel asked as he jogged through the light snow up to Cas. "I haven't seen any of your stuff since high school." In other words, they wanted to see how much he'd improved. Because it was apparently still a commodity to see how Cas had changed since last he'd been in Burr.

"Hey, look, here's the entrance," Anna interjected, pointing out a fact they could all see very well for themselves. It changed the subject however.

"I hope there's a good one," Chuck frowned as they entered the local tree farm, his voice chilly in the night air. "It is a little late after all." Which was true. Christmas was coming up within the week. Most people had put up their trees and decorations some time before.

"I'm sure there will be," Samandriel replied. "I mean, it's not like we're the only ones here or something." The place was actually dotted with quite a few people; families, couples. They weren't the only ones behind schedule.

"Well, it's really cold out here," Anna pointed out as they all grouped together just inside the entrance to the farm. "I don't know about you guys, but I'd like to get this done as quickly as possible." Hugging herself, she shivered once as the men nodded in agreement.

"Let's split up then," Samandriel decided. "Cover more ground that way. When we find a good one, we'll just text Cas, alright?" They all nodded. The only question that still remained was  _how_  they were going to split up. It only remained a question for a moment however.

"C'mon Samandriel!" Chuck grabbed his friend by the collar and dragged him off to the right side of the farm.

"Balthazar," was all Anna had to say before she linked arms with him. Together, they went to the left, Cas and Dean left standing at the entrance, refusing to look at each other.

Annoyed at his friends' antics as they disappeared into the trees, Cas tightened his lips and tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. Hesitantly, he allowed his eyes to trail to Dean, who was doing the same to him. He seemed to be taking the situation with a lighter attitude however, grinning slightly when their gazes met.

Cas, not understanding such an expression, immediately glanced away before heading off toward the trees. Dean, surprised at his abrupt departure, kicked into gear behind him, following what he quickly determined was a speed-walking Cas. As if the other man was trying to escape. The idea didn't make Dean feel all that great and he frowned.

Into the trees they headed and soon they were surrounded by the moderately tall exhibits, snow crunching beneath their feet. Cas slowed occasionally to look at one, but had seemingly surveyed it and was on to the next as soon as Dean had reached his side. This continued for some minutes, Dean growing more and more irritated as Cas attempted to avoid him in plain sight.

Not to sound like a six-year old, but it was actually kind of hurting Dean's feelings. So instead of voicing his concerns like an adult, he took the rout of a child and instead allowed his sarcasm to do the talking for him.

"So are you just going to keep pretending I don't exist," he said loud enough for Cas to hear, "or should I just leave?" He was honestly thinking about it. If Cas wasn't going to even acknowledge him, then what was the point of even being there in the first place?

Cas paused, seeming to falter in his steps before continuing on as he'd been.

Dean growled. Watching Cas carefully, he narrowed his eyes as he plotted the other man's movements. Predicting his trajectory around a tree to their upper right, Dean broke his pattern of trailing after and instead rounded the pine going the opposite way Cas had. It was because of this that, seconds later, they practically crashed into each other.

"Hey!" Dean stated bitterly when Cas was forced to take a step back away from him, those blue eyes staring at him in wide-eyed alarm. "My name's Dean Winchester. I'm looking for Castiel Novak. Maybe you've seen him." He allowed that cynical smirk to attach itself to his lips, Cas recovering enough to glare.

"Maybe he doesn't want to see you," Cas's deep voice was sassy in his defensive response, Dean's lips forming an "o" of dismay as Cas turned on his heel and started marching back into the trees again. Dean chased him, no longer quite so irritated. He'd gotten a response, which was better than nothing.

"I find that hard to believe," Dean replied, keeping up just on Cas's heels. "He did kiss me after all."

They nearly had a collision then.

Stopped dead, Cas stood motionless before Dean for only a second before turning to face him. His lips were tight, his jaw clenched, and Dean raised his eyebrows curiously.

"I apologized for that," Cas ground out. "I'd appreciate it if you'd just drop it." And not speak so loudly about it in a town where anyone and everyone knew his parents.

"Maybe I don't want to," Dean crossed his arms over his chest and Cas breathed deeply out through his nose. He wasn't able to hide the anxiety that flashed through those blue eyes however. Dean had caught it just as quickly as it'd been whisked away.

"I don't know what you want from me," Cas eventually started, his voice deeper than was even usual for him. "You already knew that I'm…" he sighed. "So I fail to see what you gain from tormenting me about this. It was a mistake and it was inappropriate. Again, I apologize." Not even giving Dean the chance to reply, he turned and headed on once again.

"Hey!" Dean continued after him, trying to piece together what he'd just heard. "Cas, wait!" He almost had to jog to catch him. "Will you… fuckin' slow down? I'm not trying to… 'torment' you."

"Then what do you want?" Cas was facing him again, the two of them practically nose to nose as Dean had barely had time to slow down. Their breathing was heavy, Cas's eyes again flashing with that anxiety. Only this time he couldn't hold it down and it quickly manifested into fear. His next words were weak, breaking even. "Why are you doing this?" Dean had barely made out what he'd said his words had been so soft. And so…

Hurt.

There was so much uncertainty and Dean felt his own chest tighten as he took it in.

"I'm not… doing anything," Dean tried to explain, his own tone falling quieter as well. "I just…" He what? He'd found the kiss both oddly enjoyable and interesting, and so here he was?

"Dean, please," Cas took a step away from him, eyes falling to the snow. "I don't think I can… do this… with you…" He shook his head. "Not you."

"What's wrong with me?" Dean asked, not even sure he knew what Cas was referencing anyway. But that didn't stop him from getting offended. "I know I'm not some Chicago college graduate like your friends, or a dentist, or…" whatever the hell it was Chuck did with his degree. Because he knew he had one.

"That doesn't have anything to do with it Dean," Cas replied quietly, those blue eyes becoming more and more terrified as they searched Dean's. "I can't handle this… with you, okay?" He shook his head. "Not you."

"What makes me some kind of exception?" To what, Dean didn't know, but he was being singled out in any case.

"Because you're Dean Winchester," Cas replied, as if it should be totally obvious.

"Yeah, I am," Dean raised his hands questioningly. "So what?"

"You were  _everything_ ," Cas replied quickly, too quickly. "And I can't- I just-" He finally looked away, appeared to Dean to be a wounded animal, and that was when he finally got what Cas was getting at. Shoulders dropping, his sighed.

"Cas, high school is over," he muttered, his own gaze going south as well. "I'm not… that guy anymore."

"You'll always be that guy," Cas murmured.

Gaping slightly, Dean hadn't anticipated the hurt those few words dropped down on him. Hadn't they already been over this? He'd apologized. And Cas had said he'd forgiven him. He'd thought they were past that.

"Cas," Dean tried to ignore how his voice cracked. "Look at me, I'm nobody. I am literally the equivalent of white trash at this point." Cas's eyes flicked up to him, brows furrowed. "You're so far beyond me now. Besides…" he tried not to sound upset. "You said you forgave me."

"Dean…" Cas shook his head, that fear abruptly evaporating as he sighed. "No… That's not what I meant." Dean wasn't sure he wanted to hear what he'd meant. "I told you I never held any of that against you. That's… not the Dean Winchester you were to me." His posture relaxed slightly. "It never was."

Dean, more confused now than ever, didn't have to voice as much. It was written all over his face.

"Dean, you were everything," Cas said again. "To me." Pause. "Which is why I can't… I don't understand…" He couldn't even finish his train of thought, his lips pursing as he looked away.

And that was when Dean realized what he meant. Why that terror had returned yet again to Cas's eyes. He wasn't wary because of the previous treatment he'd received from Dean and his friends. He was so because of what he'd said that day ten years ago, up in Dean's old room. Because old haunts still stung.

Dean could get that.

"Cas…" he took a step closer, ashamed when Cas visibly closed up further, his whole body hunching defensively. "I'm not… I'm sorry…" He didn't even know what he was apologizing for. But the words wouldn't come; he didn't know how to communicate how he was feeling. Why he felt the way he did.

He was just as scared as Cas.

Reaching out once the distance between them had diminished some, he allowed his hand to rest lightly on Cas's shoulder, the other one following shortly after until the other man was caught securely in his arms. Turning up suddenly, Cas was staring at him with that wide-eyed terror – with the gaping mouth that he'd worn that very morning when Dean had caught him trying to escape the apartment.

It was an expression Dean was slowly beginning to hate.

"Why are you doing this…?" Cas practically whimpered up at him – like some kind of whipped puppy.

"I don't know…" he answered honestly, his tone shaky. "I don't know." All he could do was follow his instinct, the closest thing he had to certainty. So with that in mind, the two of them surrounded by the bows of pines, he thought of that morning, when Cas had kissed him, and how much he'd wanted that feeling back since it'd happened.

Ignoring any sense of warning blinking in his brain, he leaned forward and, despite how Cas's eyes widened further, allowed his lips to gently press to Cas's, a rush flaring up through his whole body as he did. Despite how Cas failed to respond.

He wasn't exactly sure what he was going for, especially when considering how shocked those blue eyes appeared as they stared into his, and instead of considering it, he decided to ignore it. Allowing his eyes to close, he pressed a little harder, wanting to spur a response out of the other man. Needing to get reciprocation.

And Cas, who wasn't sure if he was petrified or melting, slowly agreed that maybe it didn't matter so much. Despite how his head was pounding on him to freak out, he instead decided to follow suit and close his own eyes. He blocked out his doubts and instead zeroed in on the lips against his own. How they skillfully tried to pry his own apart. Desperately searched for him to give some of it back.

And after what was probably far too long, he did locate the motor skills necessary to accomplish the feat. Allowing his lips to loosen slightly, he returned the gestured just as it was retreating. Just as Dean had given up and was pulling back.

Blinking their eyes open, they both found each other once again, Cas more shocked now than anything. Despite this however, he found the tips of his fingers snapping with nerves at his sides, his brain narrowing down its concentration to the rounded lips before him. For a moment, his gaze flicked between the green and those, processing.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the notion that Dean Winchester had kissed  _him_  sprung to life. It surged forward, rocking his whole body into action.

Reaching out, he found his hands inside Dean's jacket, gripping his sweater-clad sides as he pushed himself back into those lips. Eyes closed, he was chest to chest with the other man, that telltale electricity sparking through him as Dean willingly met the return kiss. Cas didn't have to look to know Dean had closed his eyes again. He knew it from the intensity of his lips, how they moved in junction with his own. Like starving animals, they were abruptly ravaging each other's mouths, Cas finding himself lost in the sensation of something he'd never thought he'd ever have.

Dean Winchester, this near to him, those broad arms reaching around his neck as they pushed closer. As Cas allowed his fingers to feel through the fabric of his sweater to the heat and muscle beneath it. Never in his life had he been this close to Dean.

Never had he fathomed it possible.

Yet, despite how he never wanted this impossible moment to end, Cas eventually found himself running out of air. Dean too, their breathing becoming labored. Chests heaving, they were forced to suddenly break, the need for oxygen driving a wedge between their lips. But Cas, he was desperate. So many times before, years before, had he imagined this. Fantasized about it. He refused to open his eyes, even as Dean did. Leaning forward, he kissed that bottom lip, which was hanging open as breath was caught above it. But he didn't care that Dean was trying to breathe, that he wasn't responding.

He didn't care.

Wanting that leather and spice flesh again, his fingers tightened around the sweater's fabric, his mouth exploring places he'd never considered he'd be able to touch. Lips light, feathering, he trailed kiss after kiss from Dean's lips across his cheek, which was only slightly littered with prickling facial hair. He relished every touch, reminding himself to remember the way Dean's ear connected to his cheek as he pushed himself even closer to the body before him.

He touched his lips down, across that chiseled jaw, back again to the corner. Down, down that pulsing neck. A heartbeat he could feel as he trailed towards that bobbing apple in the middle.

"Cas…" Dean's voice was rough above him, probably surprised even, but Cas didn't listen. He found kissed that throat, his hands trailing under the leather coat as they reached around to Dean's back. "Cas!" Dean tried again, his voice attempting to be forceful as his hand found its way into Cas's dark hair. "Cas… stop."

"No," Cas barely registered the way his voice growled the response, his lips still dotting Dean's skin. He found himself sinking lower, his lips lining the collar of Dean's sweater as he continued around to the other side. Unexplored territory he was fully intent on mapping at that very moment.

"Cas…" Dean was having trouble breathing, his hand attempting to grip tighter to Cas's hair, but failing as his fingers weakened over and over again. "Someone… someone's going to see us…"

"I don't care," Cas's voice was that deep growl again and Dean was surprised he was even still standing. Instead, his thoughts dropped abruptly lower, his body reminding him that though Cas was currently assaulting his neck – the kissing growing somewhat harsher – that didn't change the fact that their bodies were now pressed as closely as their clothes would allow.

Lips trailing back across Dean's other cheek, he was jolted into surprise when suddenly Cas's tongue trailed shortly over the skin linking his ear to the rest of his face. And his body responded in kind, his hips abruptly thrusting forward into the man before him. Cas grunted shortly, his own torso moving slightly forward, which was almost too much for Dean, as it would turn out.

It was strange to him, how he was practically turning to putty in Cas's arms. Usually he was the one putting forth the sensual efforts, women falling apart in his hold. He'd never been on the receiving end before, which was leaving him quite helpless. Especially because Cas was turning out to be much more forceful than he'd anticipated.

Yet, oddly enough, despite how… vulnerable the lack of control made him feel, he also… kind of liked it.

Someone taking care of him for once.

Blinking, Dean shook the thought from his head. No, that didn't matter. Not now. He  _had_  to take control since it was becoming more and more apparent that Cas wasn't going to. He said he didn't care, but Dean knew he did. And so, his brain grappling with what self-control was still there, Dean latched his hands onto Cas's shoulders before, quite roughly actually, shoving him backward.

Cas's lips pulled despairingly from the corner of Dean's mouth, the skin echoing with the heated touches. But Dean pulled his strength forward and, even when Cas tried to fight him and come back, kept the other man at bay, arms extending to their full length as he tried to manage the situation.

"Cas!" Dean snapped, those blue eyes flicking up to his. "We need to stop."

Blinking, it was almost as though a light had been switched in Cas's brain. Backing away abruptly, all touch was severed between them, cold like a vacuum. They were both still breathing heavily, Cas taking in Dean's flushed face as his confusion sorted itself out in his head.

Part of him couldn't believe, didn't want to believe, that what had happened had just… happened. He was afraid of it, of what he'd just done with Dean. What did it mean? He wanted to ask, but was too afraid to do that as well. But then, there was another part of him, a part that echoed of his high school years, that wanted nothing more than to jump Dean right then and there. Despite how it baffled him, it was suddenly possible and all that pent up desire was pulsing. Years and years of him keeping it sealed up and in one single moment, the lock was broken. The idea of being with Dean in every way imaginable was assaulting him, pressuring him to ignore everyone and everything around them. To push the man before him to the ground and ravage his entire body, right there in the snow.

The pull was so great he feared he'd actually do it.

Instead however, because his logic was tugging just as equally hard against his carnal longings, he was stuck simply staring at Dean, frozen to the snow.

If the other man was uncomfortable with what had just happened, or surprised even, Cas didn't take note of it. Rather, Dean was simply trying to allow his thoughts to catch up with the moment. Yes, he'd been the one to initiate the contact, but he hadn't expected the gusto with which Cas had countered. And as he took in those blue eyes staring at him, he realized that this wasn't anywhere near the end of what had just happened.

No, not with a gaze that intense.

Dean felt naked under the scrutiny, as if Cas was slowly stripping him with his eyes. He'd never seen such a penetrating, heavy look, and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Part of him felt violated that such a severe search would be made of him, while another part of him was  _entirely_  turned on. The look in Cas's eyes wasn't dangerous in the most typical sense of the word, but within the notion that, were they alone, Dean would have no choice but to give in. It was  _that_  powerful, that… sexual.

Everything Cas wanted from him was spelled out in that stare, and Dean felt inclined to give in to him.

Who knew Cas could be so… animalistic.

Or that a pair of eyes could be so entirely erotic. But that was what it was. Bedroom eyes. From a bedroom with dirty sheets and stained carpet. Where the lights flickered and trains shook the walls outside. Where everything was illicit and needed and ground out all at the same time.

A place where bodies molded and minds evaporated.

Dean found that he had to look away.

Yet still he could feel those eyes on him, feel his own yearning to give in. To let Cas do whatever it was that was going through his head. He'd never felt so exposed in his life. But there was something about Cas, something about his silently dominating stature, that made Dean weak when he shouldn't have been. When he'd never been before.

He wanted to say that this development wasn't good, but part of him wanted it  _so bad._  To forget rules and expectations, his masculine efficiency, and just let himself be taken. To surrender and not be the one in control. Never had the idea been an option for him; he'd always had to take charge, deal with everything. Ever since his parents had died.

But maybe yielding for this, for only this, for Cas, wouldn't be so bad. God knew he didn't know anything about… gay… this… whatever…

He really didn't need to go there.

"Hey, you guys find anything?" Snapping their gazes around like deer waiting to be pounced, both Cas and Dean stared on, wide-eyed, as Chuck and Samandriel approached from around the trees. "Cuz we think we found one…" They didn't fail to sense the tension in the air, whatever kind of tension it may be.

"Awesome," Dean stated rather loudly. "Let's see it." Hunkering forward, he hastily headed toward the two who'd just intruded, both of them turning abruptly when it was apparent Dean was in a hurry. Leading the way through the trees, they glanced back every once in a while, curious looks on their faces, but didn't say anything.

Dean, however, could still feel Cas's eyes on him. It made him uncomfortable, but in a good way. He knew the other man was close behind him, but still he felt his nerves snapping. Like any moment he'd be jumped and smothered again.

Which would probably be okay with him, albeit unadvised.

"This one," Chuck and Samandriel stopped before a full, medium sized tree, Anna and Balthazar already there. "It should fit in your living room pretty good, right?" Chuck continued, his gaze falling back on Cas, who took a little longer than he should have to answer.

"Probably," was all he said. It was taking his full concentration to pretend to care about the tree with Dean only a few feet away. He just couldn't understand it, what had happened between them, and he knew he was missing potential clues by ripping his eyes from Dean. Among other things.

"Then let's get it already and go," Balthazar was rubbing his arms, apparently cold.

"Cas, why don't you go get the car," Anna said, since it was his mother's and all, "and we'll go get one of the guys who work here to chop it down." Lips pursing, Cas supposed there wasn't much argument for that. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he headed back toward the entrance, his eyes lingering on Dean for a few moments too long before he was disappearing into the trees. Dean had met his gaze, which had only made tearing himself away that much harder.

Cas frowned. Behind him, his friends were probably hunting around for help, which wouldn't take long. Picking up his pace, he headed as quickly as he could to get the car and pull it up closer, the distance between him and Dean seeming colder and colder the wider it grew. He didn't want that, the heat to evaporate. That was the last thing he wanted. Because if it did, then his chances might slip away too.

He walked a little faster.

"Where you off to in such a hurry?"

Cas stopped dead.

His entire form deflated.

"I wondered if I'd see you again," Raphael continued, Cas, lips tight, slowly turning to face him. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to it." He was alone, that much Cas could make out. He didn't dwell on the fact however. "Do you even remember what happened the last time we talked, or were you too trashed?"

"I remember," Cas replied shortly.

"Well that's a relief," Raphael was frowning. "I wouldn't want to have to remind you of what you said." His tone was threatening, as it always was, and Cas ignored the way his stomach twisted. He wasn't in high school anymore; he wasn't helpless. He'd taken self-defense classes, martial arts. Raphael didn't scare him.

"I'd rather not get into this with you," Cas explained coldly. "Our father's are working together. I think it'd be a nice change of pace if we could get along as well." And he wasn't lying. Truly, if whatever hatred Raphael held for him would just go away, it'd make both their lives easier.

"I really don't see that becoming possible," Raphael replied with a shrug. "Your father did just swoop in and take over. Despite the civil attitude, my father didn't exactly appreciate it." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's only one year," Cas replied, trying not to sound irritated. "Everything with the church will be back in your father's hands next year." When his parents came to visit him in Chicago again.

"You know, I just don't think that's good enough for me," Raphael huffed in a rather exaggerated manner. "And you know, I have quite the temper."

"I'm aware," Cas's teeth gritted.

"And it's not like my father could be angry with me if I took some of it out on you," he shrugged. "You're not a member of the church anymore, so you're not exactly on the 'keep safe' list. Tell me," he furrowed his eyebrows, "do you even go to a church up there, or have you sunk to the lows of all those artsy sinners in the city?" He'd taken a few steps closer, Cas's eyes narrowed.

"I don't think my religious affiliations are any of your concern," he ground out.

"God, I think, would say different."

"And you speak for God?"

"More so than you do," Raphael sounded quite certain. "Did you know Cas that I'm engaged?" It seemed a random thing to bring up, but Cas didn't allow it to faze him. "We've been together four years now. It's interesting, isn't it, what your father says about you. Haven't had a girlfriend the whole time you've been gone. I find that a little difficult to believe." He cocked a single eyebrow.

"Again, I fail to see how that's any of your business," Cas replied stiffly, though his heart had sped up a little in his chest.

"It's my business if it needs to be," Raphael replied. "Especially if you're hiding something." He was slowly getting closer, Cas standing his ground resolutely. "You do come from a home of god after all. Hate to consider that maybe you're dragging sin around with you, dirtying your father's good name."

"My presence is no dirtier than yours," Cas stated firmly. "Tell me Raphael, that fiancé of yours. Have you beaten her lately? Or have you been saving all that energy for me?" The slight smacked Raphael, hard, and his lips pulled into snarl. Cas knew that by saying something like that, he was instigating the situation. But he honestly didn't care. He was so tired of running.

And hiding.

"Watch you're mouth," Raphael hissed.

"Or what?" Cas practically spit the words. But he knew "what." He'd been through it all ten years before. Because it didn't take much to get Raphael physical. Cas's mere presence had seemed to set him off once, so add foul words and he was bound to lose it.

That aside, Cas was sure Raphael had been gearing up for this. A person like him  _would_  look forward to getting into a fight with someone over nothing.

Obviously angry and confrontational, Raphael picked up his pace abruptly, placing himself directly in front of Cas as his arm pulled back. He was going in for the hit. Yet there was an oddly calm sensation filtering through Cas, as if the whole thing was happening in slow motion. He  _wasn't_  afraid. Instead, when that fist came flying, he felt his reflexes, the ones he'd honed since college, react without any prompting.

Reaching up, the side of his hand easily blocked the blow, throwing it to the side and out of range. And Raphael, so caught off guard by the offensive, nearly stumbled back. Unfortunately for him however, Cas caught him. Grabbing the very hand that had previously been set on course for his face, Cas bent it back and down – unnaturally so.

Exclaiming in pain, Raphael eye's widened, staring at his victimized hand as Cas continued to bend it back. Casualty to the pain, Raphael had no choice but to curve his arm in a way that would lessen it, his whole body lowering to the ground as he did. With stoic force, Cas continued to press him down until his old nemesis was on his knees in the snow, gasping against the bones grinding in his wrist, threatening to crack.

Cas's lips tightened.

"You may have remained here," he started, stare cold upon Raphael, "in Burr, where the past and the present are always the same. But I didn't and you would do well to remember that." Expression still empty, Cas held that hand back painfully for some moments longer, as if driving his point home. When finally Raphael closed his eyes, giving into the pain, Cas released him, shoving him back harshly. He landed rear first in the snow, his injured hand cupped in the other. He didn't catch Cas's eyes again.

And so, without much more thought on the subject and deciding he'd put Raphael in his place, Cas turned and continued on his way back to his mother's car.

**oOo**

It was nearing eleven now. The cookies were packed up and ready to be loaded in the morning. The tree was vertical, set in its stand, and most were in the living room with Naomi, decorating how she saw fit. Dean, however, had needed to remove himself from the situation. Between the hints Naomi made about her son and Anna being in a relationship, the awkwardness with which all of Cas's friends addressed him, and those penetrating blue eyes, he'd just had to take a break. Having located a glass, he'd filled it with water from the tap and was leaning over the counter, slowly drinking it down.

He'd closed his eyes, attempting to calm his nerves. As he'd been trying to do since the encounter with Cas at the tree farm. But the task had proven nearly impossible, no thanks to an aforementioned man. Nothing in Cas's demeanor had changed since they'd broken apart. He was still floating around with that sensually dragging look in his eyes, one that he set on Dean as often as possible. And every time he did, Dean had no choice but to look back, his breath coming up sharply. He could see everything in those eyes. Not in pictures or words, but in intentions. Emotions. Things he shouldn't be able to so blatantly recognize, but that Cas was practically shouting at him. Silently shouting.

Penetrating his skull like a knife.

He took another drink of water, but it helped little.

"You look a little out of breath," Balthazar had apparently followed him into the kitchen, Dean turning to face the man that stood behind him, a knowing smirk on his face. "Curious, isn't it, how that happens."

Dean glared at him. "Funny how some things aren't your business."

"Hey," Balthazar raised his hands in a surrendering fashion. "I'm not making any assumptions." Still grinning, he made his way toward Dean, leaning against the counter beside him. "I was just curious is all."

"Of course you were," Dean replied, straight faced. He didn't mean to be so… sharp, but his stomach was twisted in so many knots that he couldn't really help it. Mostly he wanted to talk to Cas alone, but then part of him also didn't want that. Because he had the feeling that being alone with Cas would only lead to… But the idea of that made him want it again. It was all very confusing.

"It's just that, for those of us in the know," Balthazar shrugged, "we can definitely tell there's something up with the way Cas has been looking at you. Just… wondering what spurred it is all."

Dean rolled his eyes and stared back down at his water.

"Again, it's really not any of your business," he argued, but only got a patient, sidelong glance from Balthazar. He sighed. There was a little voice in the back of his head however that was claiming it might not be a bad idea to tell Balthazar. He knew Cas after all. He might have some valuable insight. "We might have…" he gave in, "made out a little bit." If that was what it could be called.

He shrugged, still intent on his glass.

" _Really_?" Balthazar sounded honestly surprised, his eyes widening slightly. "No wonder he's…" His words trailed off and Dean, eyebrows furrowed, glanced up at him. The only thing he could gather however was that the other man was looking behind, so Dean turned to do the same.

He was presented with those blue eyes all over again.

Cas was there, a stack of plates in his hands. Presumably from the "snacks" Naomi had ushered into the living room about a half an hour before. He didn't even bother looking between Dean and Balthazar as he approached the counter, no, his focus was entirely on Dean. Dean, who was standing, apparently, before the spot where Cas had to set the dishes. Because those blue eyes, churning like the ocean's surface at a distance, were coming closer and closer and it wasn't until they were directly in front of him that Dean realized he should probably move.

Stepping to the side, nearly running into Balthazar, he made room for Cas, who didn't bother looking where he was setting the dishes as he did. No, his eyes were glued to Dean the whole time. He abandoned the plates on the counter, slowly turned, and only pulled his stare away as he left the kitchen again.

No words were exchanged.

"Wow…" Balthazar muttered as Dean, eyes wide and intent, watched Cas's every retreating step. His brain told him that Cas looked extremely good in those pants and he had to stop himself from following after in pursuit. "It's like…" Balthazar's voice finally drew his attention and Dean flicked his focus to him. "Like he's in… heat or something."

Dean pursed his lips at the crude comparison, no matter how true it was.

"I'm serious!" Balthazar defended with a laugh. "Not that I really blame the guy."

"What's that mean?" Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

"It  _means_ ," Balthazar ignored the attitude, "that Cas had… feelings for you for a long time. However long he did while you two were in high school, and then it took him years afterwards to really… move on. Then he comes back here and suddenly you're interested?" Dean looked away, ignoring how his cheeks pinked. "Cas probably has years worth of… 'Dean feels' pumping through him." He'd made air quotes with his fingers. "I'd watch out."

"What? Why?"

"Because he'll probably jump your bones the next chance he gets," Balthazar laughed.

Dean glared. But, again, he couldn't ignore the truth to the words. It was written all over and inside the stares Cas was throwing at him. Even the most oblivious individual could see that. Which was probably why Naomi hadn't caught on.

As far as she was concerned, her baby boy was straight. She might want to try another go at the lottery though, or so Dean figured. Odds were probably more in her favor.

"Only question now," Balthazar shrugged, "is whether you want to let him." Those words echoed in Dean's head for a moment, his brain still considering them even as Balthazar walked away, headed back into the living room. He had to blink away the images that were flashing through his head however; they were becoming far too graphic. Not only that, but it was slightly… confusing to him. Not so much in an emotional sense, Dean wasn't shy when it came to sexual matters, but in the… physical sense.

He knew next to nothing about having sex with another dude.

Okay, stop thinking about it.

Shaking his head, Dean pushed himself from the counter and walked pointedly back into the living room. He tried to ignore thoughts of Cas, looking instead to the Christmas tree. As if that was going to be much of a distraction. It was fully decorated now however, everyone sitting back on the couches admiring it. Except for a certain pair of blue eyes, which trailed Dean as he entered and sat on the opposite side of the room.

"You are all certainly efficient," Naomi started after a moment. "Got all the cookies frosted and the tree up? I don't know what I would have done without you." She smiled as she glanced around the room, grateful to each of them. A few of them returned with a genial smile, having little else to say on the subject. Mostly because everyone, with the exception of two, were exhausted.

Anna and Balthazar had just flown in and been busy since. And Chuck and Samandriel had worked until the afternoon. Only Cas and Dean had been able to sleep in, sleep off the night before. Dean had to work the following day however, but that was the last thing on his mind.

"Mother," Cas's deep voice entered the conversation abruptly, his focus tearing itself away to focus in on Naomi. "You look exhausted. You've been baking all day. Perhaps you should go to bed." If his tone was more forceful than usual, his mother didn't notice.

"Oh you're probably right," Naomi sighed. "I do have to get up early to be down to the church." She returned her son's gaze. "I must look very tired for you to have noticed though. Thoughtful of you to be thinking of me." Cas nodded, offering no other words of encouragement. Instead, he diverted his gaze to what she probably thought was the window. Rather, it was the window Dean was sitting directly in front of.

Within the next few moments however, Naomi had risen to her feet and said her goodnights to the younger group. She warned them not to stay up much later, though her face became abruptly scolding as she flicked her attention between Dean and Cas.

"And you two," she issued sternly. "Don't drink so much next time." They both zeroed in on her in surprise, Cas's mouth even falling open ever so slightly. She rolled her eyes. "You honestly thought I hadn't noticed? I was young once too you know." Dean laughed and Cas's cheeks pinked slightly, everyone else in the room joining in with chuckles soon after.

It was a wonder she hadn't noticed other things…

She headed up the stairs to her bedroom a few moments later, Cas seeming awfully distracted, his eyes seeming to be looking up at the ceiling. There was the click of a door, they all heard it in the silence, and then some five minutes later, it opened again and another door was heard. The whole time, everyone was watching Cas, who didn't act until the final door echoed down to them.

Apparently he'd been listening.

Surging to his feet, Cas apparently took that "click" as his sign to act. He turned abruptly to his friends, not Dean, and appeared all too serious.

"You all have to leave," he decided swiftly.

"Uh… why?" Anna furrowed her brows. "I thought Balthazar and I were staying here." Cas wasn't totally focused on her however. Instead, he'd grabbed Dean's leather jacket from where it was sitting on the back of the couch, atop a few other heavy coats. He threw it to its owner, who caught it despite his surprise.

"Because I'm leaving," Cas stated, dragging his eyes back to Anna. "And if I'm gone, then you have to be as well. It's socially inappropriate for me to go anywhere without taking you. As the situation stands." More than a few eyebrows in the room furrowed.

"Well… where are we going to go?" Balthazar asked, all eyes trained on Cas, who was making his way across the room to Dean. In one swift moment, he reached down and grabbed the other man around the arm before yanking him to his feet. He then made an obvious show of looking him up and down before turning to Balthazar.

"Right now," Cas's face was straight, serious, "I really don't care. But you have to leave so that I can leave."

"And… where are you going?" Chuck asked, the group slowly rising to their feet and grabbing their jackets, despite their confusion. Dean too, eyes curious, pulled his on, his gaze zeroed in on Cas.

"I'm going," Cas reached up suddenly, grabbing Dean's coat by the collar, "to Dean's apartment." Beginning to walk, he dragged a very surprised Dean behind him, who stumbled after.

"Wait, what?" was all he managed to sputter out as he was, rather forcefully, ushered across the room.

Everyone else gaped.

Cas didn't particularly care about that either, apparently, because he didn't look back. No, he continued on through the kitchen and to the door. He was intent on his mission and Dean was too shocked by the forward momentum to do much about it. If he even really wanted to.

Back in the living room, Anna had broken out into laughter, Balthazar grinning. Chuck and Samandriel were still gaping however, beyond shocked that Castiel could act so… demanding and forward. Especially considering Dean Winchester.

"Well," Anna finally found her voice. "I guess we're leaving then."


	8. Couch Cushions

Dean was a little too shocked to do anything other than sit. Cas was beside him in the passenger seat, still staring at him, and Dean instead focused on the side of the Novak's house. His brain was a little frazzled at this point, trying to keep up with everything that had happened in the last few seconds.

They were supposed to be going to his apartment, according to Cas…

Where they'd…

"Are you going to drive?" Cas asked abruptly, Dean twitching his head to the side to look at him. "Because if you can't, I can." He blinked.

Dean's mouth fell slightly agape.

Ahhh…" What was he even supposed to say here? The least Cas could do was explain himself, or ask, or something. That was, if Dean had in mind what was going on. But knowing Cas, or not knowing him rather, made it very difficult for him to deduce with absolute certainty what was happening.

Maybe if he voiced as much.

"I don't… know what's going on…" he finally decided.

"I told you," Cas replied coldly. "We're going to your apartment."

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Why…?"

It was Cas's turn to appear somewhat confused. He stared at Dean for a few moments, as if contemplating the situation, before finally some kind of clarity flashed across his face.

"Do you want to go to your apartment?" he finally asked, as if realizing that perhaps forcing Dean into this might not be the best way to go about things. For more reasons than one, some of which being illegal.

"Well…" Dean furrowed his brows, still uncertain. "What are we going to do… there…?" He was pretty sure he knew, but he had to ask. He had to make sure. Because this was all just so abrupt and… headfirst. Granted, Dean wasn't exactly known for taking his time when it came to these types of things, yet generally he at least had a clear idea of where he was headed.

And what he was doing…

Cas's blue eyes narrowed further, almost suspiciously. "We're going to have sex," he answered straight, bluntly, his response causing Dean to twitch his head back toward the windshield. "Unless you… don't want to…" Cas finished lamely. Was that disappointment in his voice? "You seemed supportive of the idea earlier." In the tree farm, where they'd gotten quite taken away with each other.

"Uh, well," Dean fumbled with his words, "that was, I guess, you were… wow, okay." He brought his hands up to the steering wheel, trying to center himself.

"You don't want to anymore…" Cas deduced, his tone dropping even further, and Dean flicked his gaze back over to the other man. The dejection he saw painted across that face was unmistakable.

"No!" Dean corrected quickly, his mouth functioning faster than his brain. "This is all just so… sudden… I guess…" Was it really? It'd been a while, but Dean had enjoyed his fair share of one-night stands. Though that could be why he'd also run out of eligible women in Burr, but that was neither here nor there.

"Is that a problem?" Cas asked.

And Dean had to catch himself before answering. Mouth open, he paused, his eyebrows furrowing further as he considered the question. Yet, to be honest, he could find no issues with taking Cas back to his place and doing the deed. He'd done so with plenty of women, and there was no mistaking the fact that he was attracted to Cas. He wanted to be with him.

But that little nagging voice in the back of his mind kept telling him over and over again that he didn't know what he was doing this time. Because, newsflash, men were a tad bit different than women.

Perhaps he should do some research first?

The logical part of his brain was quickly overtaken however as he caught those blue eyes – burning blue. It made his chest tight and his blood hectic. Hell, it made common sense seem rather irrelevant.

Besides,  _would_  it really be that different?

Nah.

"Nope," Dean finally decided as he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket and plunged them into the ignition. "Not a problem at all," he finished, backing the Impala out of the drive and into the road. Punching it, it took off a little faster than he'd anticipated, which made evident to him just how on-board with the idea he really was. Even if it was all very confusing.

Maybe he wouldn't feel so confused afterward…

That was never a good mentality.

But Cas… he was just so…

Well, at that moment, staring at Dean with those eyes, he was damn sexy. Which meant Dean's self-control was quickly being flushed away.

He wasn't the only one dealing with issues over control however. Cas, his hands lying flat on his thighs, fingers tight, could feel the heat in his stomach as they sped down the road. Somewhere in the farthest corners of his mind, his doubts and insecurities were screaming, but the pulsating draw of what he wanted was just too overpowering. He'd always wanted Dean Winchester, in high school, the last ten years. He'd just been forced to lock the thoughts away because of the notion of "impossible." But now, now all those nights he'd lain in bed, thinking of him – they could become a reality. And, to be honest, it was just easier to think between his legs than use his brain.

He wanted Dean Winchester, more than anything, and he wasn't going to throw this opportunity away. Not now. Not after waiting  _so long_.

Part of him was warning to be careful, to think this through and take things slow. To consider the consequences. To analyze the situation like he did everything. But for once in his life, he was going to simply do what he wanted. He was so filled with  _want_. The want to be irresponsible, like he never was. To throw caution to the wind, like he never did. To have Dean Winchester, which he knew was impossible.

A fantasy come to life, if only for a night.

One night. That was all he asked.

 _One night_.

Because, somewhere in his gut, in his spine and the way it shivered, he knew that was all he was going to get. So he had to act. Even if the pain afterward was going to be crippling for the rest of his life.

But that sharp profile; those green eyes. The way his muscular arms turned the wheel, smooth and experienced. Those athletic legs beneath jeans. A chest that moved up and down in the familiar way that Cas had seen so many times before, echoing in the back of his dreams.

A star suddenly within reach.

His fingers twitched and abruptly Cas couldn't understand why he was so far away from the one thing he'd wanted more than anything in what could be characterized as his rather short life. Without any thought, because he was ignoring that, he slid across the black bench seat until he was directly beside Dean, their thighs knocking harshly.

Leaning up, Cas remembered only quickly the way his lips had previously laid on Dean's skin before he decided to rekindle the sensation. He trailed his mouth across Dean's jaw, eyes closed as he felt the heat that ignited with every touch.

"O-okay…" Dean's eyes popped even wider, his fingers tightening on the wheel as the sensations flicking across his skin sent wave after wave of heat from his face on downward. Then, if only to make things worse, Cas's hand was abruptly on his thigh, gripping tightly as it slid to the inside.

The Impala swerved into the other lane momentarily, Dean thankful no one was coming.

"Ah, C-Cas…" he tried to find words as that hand continued to stroke the inside of his leg through his jeans, those lips having fallen lower to his neck. He could feel Cas's hair on his jaw, the soft wisps against his shadow of facial buzz. And that  _hand_. It was drifting higher now.

No, driving!

 **Drive**!

Dean's foot fell more heavily on the pedal, his brain registering somewhere that he was only a little further from his apartment. If he didn't kill the both of them before then.

Don't think about Cas. Don't!

Wow, that hand was really stroking. Expertly even, and Dean found himself wondering only fleetingly into Cas's experience. The thought quickly dissolved, however, when those lips began to make their way back up. He wanted to turn into them, badly, but he had to keep his eyes on the road.

Almost there!

Finally reaching the drive to his complex, Dean barely bothered using the brake as he whipped his boat of a car into the lot. Heading straight for his parking spot, he slammed the Impala into it before bouncing off the adrenaline. Pulling the keys from the ignition, he shoved the driver's door open before practically falling out, Cas's hand leaving a scorching burn as it stretched away.

Pushing himself into standing, Dean took a few deep, steadying breaths, eyes still wide as he watched Cas slowly emerge from the driver's side door as well. He shut the door behind him, those blue eyes burning with the desire Dean was quickly realizing had been awakened inside himself as well.

Yup, they needed to get upstairs.

 _Now_!

Turning on his heel, Dean practically jogged into the building, Cas directly behind him. He knew the other man was there because he'd reached forth for Dean's arm, pulling him back. But Dean knew the pull wasn't to get his attention, at least not in a way that was acceptable for public consumption. He had to keep moving forward. Up the stairs despite how Cas begged for his notice.

Practically tripping over each other, they made their way up to Dean's floor before they stumbled around the corner to the correct door. But before they reached it, Cas's hold on Dean's arm got tighter and, with strength Dean hadn't expected, he whipped him around until they were facing each other.

Within the same moment, Cas's lips were on Dean's, who was giving in before he'd even realized what was happening. Falling back into the wall, thankfully the one that belonged to his own apartment, Dean didn't even register how the back of his head slammed, too intent on the way Cas's tongue was abruptly against his own. Breathing erratic, he responded with much the same, fighting back until he was running his own tongue along Cas's teeth, searching that mouth as far in as he could.

Cas's hands were inside his jacket again, grasping at his sweater as if trying to rip it away. Which was fine with Dean. The idea of getting to Cas's skin, of feeling it against his own, sounded beyond exceptional.

Until he heard the front door to the building slam closed.

Eyes popping wide, Dean abruptly remembered that they were still in the hallway. Of an apartment complex in  _Burr_.

They needed to get inside.

Ignoring how he wanted to rip Cas's clothes from his body, Dean clumsily reached into his pocket and retrieved his keys once again. He couldn't pull himself from Cas's lips however, that was impossible, so he instead pushed forward with all his strength and forcefully rolled Cas around until it was he who had fallen into the wall. Only it wasn't a wall now, but Dean's front door.

Multitasking was difficult however when all he wanted to do was feel the heat of Cas's skin beneath his palms. But, he momentarily argued, the faster he got them into the apartment, the sooner that reality could come to be. It was with that only bit of logical control that Dean managed to, after seconds of searching by touch because he refused to pull his face from Cas's, find the correct key, jam it into the lock, twist, take the knob, and push!

They blundered into the apartment and Dean kicked the door harshly closed behind him.

 _Finally_!

Dean didn't even bother to lock the door as he dropped the keys to the floor.

Grabbing Cas by the shoulders, he crashed them both into the nearest wall, eyes closing as he focused entirely on those lips. On that lithe, sweating body rubbing against his, creating fiction between their clothes.

He sucked Cas's top lip between his own, the thought of doing so, because it was such a prominent feature on the other man's face, turning him on considerably. And Cas, who was still scraping at his sweater, growled against him before lurching forward.

They slammed harshly into the opposing wall, the darkness of the room aiding little in directing them toward the bedroom. Yet Dean had the invigorating feeling that they weren't going to make it that far. His stomach plummeted and he could feel his heartbeat pulsating between his legs.

Cas's hands were under his shirt, warmed fingers on Dean's bare skin, whose hips thrust, colliding with the heat equally pushing forward from Cas. Abruptly, that part of Dean too was pinned to the wall, Cas's hips driving into his own, the pointed friction apparent to both men.

Dean could feel his eyes rolling back, his mouth gasping open as he was ground again and again against the wall. As Cas's lips trailed once more across his cheekbone, those hands fingering the skin over his ribs as they traveled upward.

But his sweater was getting in the way, gathering up on Cas's arms, and Dean could sense his frustration before it even had the chance to materialize. Reaching down, they both grabbed the bottom edge of the sweater, yanking it up over Dean's head at the same time.

It was tossed carelessly to the side.

Dean's chest heaved, exposed, as Cas dragged his hands from his shoulders downward, his lips trailing in much the same pattern from Dean's throat. He could feel each heated touch as that mouth went first from the skin collapsing in just below his neck to the chest below. Reaching up, Dean found his hands stretching through that dark, mussed hair, head falling back as he closed his eyes to the ceiling.

He hadn't realized how much time had passed since he'd been with someone. In a purely physical manner. Yet even with that in mind, he was still dealing with a whole new experience. The way Cas was touching him, relishing in every piece of his skin he could get at; how he was being fastened to the wall with every thrust of their hips together, as if Cas dared not allow him a moment to somehow slip away.

For the first time in his life, he was the one on the receiving end, getting all the pampering without the consideration of having to do more work. And, to be honest, he was loving every moment of it. How many nights had he come home from work, covered in grease, wandering into his dinky apartment with hardly any paycheck to show for his labor? How many times had he looked in the mirror and seen someone no one wanted, no one needed? A dirty, uneducated man with nothing to show for himself?

Nobody.

But Cas… Cas was desperate in the way he was kissing those lips to his chest, desperate in the same way Dean was for that very moment. He touched him like he was the last thing he'd ever touch, intently and with some kind of carnal purpose. He wanted him, badly, and Dean wanted so badly to be wanted like that. It was relieving, giving in, and he found he felt happier giving up control than he ever had been with any woman.

Which was why, as those lips curved back up the way they'd come, as those hands found the edge of his jeans, the belt loops, he didn't object. He didn't fight back, wanting to be the one driving them. No, he let Cas's lips come back to his own, Dean's hands strangling that dark hair as those fingers tugged his jeans from his hips. The fabric was rough against his skin, tight, and sent shockwaves through his veins as Cas slowly, ever so slowly, allowed them to drop, Dean kicking off his boots at the same moment, his socks sucking off with them.

He took a gasping breath against those lips, his whole body wavering alongside Cas before he leaned forward and took those lips once again, the sweet taste spurring him to want more. To allow his hands to drag to the front of Cas's sweater only because he wanted that feeling of sweat on sweat, of Cas's body against his own.

He pulled the sweater upward, asking that Cas lift his arms so he could remove it. And once it was gone, he began to pull at the buttons of the white shirt beneath, which was damp and breathing hard. The buttons were extremely tedious however and Dean's impatience was getting the better of him. Using as much strength as he could muster, he ripped at the shirt, snapping a few of the buttons as he forced it open.

His hands were immediately inside it, scouring Cas's bared chest as their lips continued to devour one another. He could feel the sweat, the salty want, as Cas's hands found the wall on either side of Dean's head. He shuddered against him, hips grinding harder as Dean's hands traced down his wiry, twitching muscles.

Cas's hands became claws against the wall, his whole body tensing at the exploring touches. And as Dean's fingers eventually found their way to the band of his pants, the button, the zipper, their lips fell away. Eyes closed, their foreheads rubbed as Dean ran his hands along the edge of Cas's slacks to the back. There, he allowed his nails to slip under the band, to locate the layer beneath before delving into that as well. Hands tightening, he could feel the way Cas tensed as he felt lower, pulling them closer together at the hips as he cupped the finely sculpted flesh hidden behind Cas's back pockets.

Noses brushing, Cas audibly groaned, Dean taking in the gravelly noise as he savored the feeling of that toned muscle contracting beneath his touch.

Hands abruptly lowering, Cas's groan became a growl as he roughly grabbed Dean's boxers at the sides and yanked them down. They fell to the floor atop his rumpled jeans without struggle, Dean's breath catching as his whole body was abruptly released to the chilled air of the apartment. The naked feeling around his middle didn't last however. With haste driven by lust, Cas had ripped his own pants, as well as the layer beneath, from his body before kicking them to the side with his shoes.

Reaching down, he gripped Dean around the back of the thighs, hard, before shoving him up on the wall. Having no choice but to catch his balance, Dean's hands flew to Cas's shoulders, eyes flicking open as his legs were wound around Cas's middle, their naked hips uniting once more.

Dean's hands dug into Cas's shoulders as he was driven again, only this time without the barrier of clothing. He could feel every bit of the other man as they ground into one another, using the wall for leverage to graze their desires together, constant,  _needed_. One thrust and then another, Cas's hands scraping up Dean's thighs until he was holding him up from beneath, those strong, artistic instruments gripping firmly.

Abruptly, they weren't against the wall anymore, Dean held up in Cas's arms as he snaked his legs around him more tightly. Lips and breath echoing against the crook between Dean's neck and shoulder, Cas stumbled farther into the room, doing his best to remember where the furniture was. Thankfully, the couch was closest.

Without much thought on the matter, Cas allowed them to drop into the lopsided cushions, his legs scraping against the fabric as he continued to plunge himself against the man below him, Dean's legs hugging him closer all the while.

Lips leaving constantly heated marks against Dean's exposed skin, Cas allowed his hands to find leverage on the couch, Dean's own fingers scalding Cas's back and shoulders with the intensity of hunger. Hunger that Cas wanted to fill.

Sinking lower across Dean's slicked, sweltering body, Cas dotted his chin with his lips before moving onto his throat, his chest. He slowed then however, sliding back on the couch as he savored the sensation of Dean's body breathing beneath him. He dragged his lips across his muscled abdomen, each quivering tendon sending a thrill through Cas's whole system. His kissed as much of him as he could, breathing in that leather and spice, engraining it as deeply as it'd go.

His hands, which had drifted down from Dean's shoulders across his chest, scraped at the sticking skin, the strong legs wrapped around him loosening as he continued to lower himself further and further down Dean's figure.

Soon his lips, his nose, found the carpet twisting below Dean's shuddering, tight stomach, his hips thrusting forward awkwardly as Cas wasted little time continuing lower. He found the base of that shaft, his eyes slowly flickering open as he glanced up at Dean, who was gazing down at him equally as intensely.

He allowed his lips, his tongue, to glide up the protruding length.

Dean's hands found the couch, his whole body convulsing as the heat of Cas's touch ricocheted up through his skin. He attempted to resist the urge to thrust his hips awkwardly, to demand that Cas quit teasing and just swallow him whole, but the other man must have been able to read the motions because soon all he could register was heat. Wet, slick heat pulling him in as he groaned.

"Cas…" he managed to moan, his whole body tending its energy to his hips as they counter-balanced the way Cas drank him in before slowly sucking back out. Over and over he felt those lips, the lips he'd been unable to draw himself away from, pull him in and out, Dean's toes curling as he allowed the springing elation to wash him away.

He never wanted the feeling to end, the careful yet deliberately rough way he was being touched by those lips.  _Those lips_! His whole body was shivers and static, his limbs melting away until all that was left was the awareness of that tug and pull. Thrust and claim.

A balanced, repetitive dance of ecstasy.

Which was why, when abruptly Dean could feel the cold, he pushed his hips higher if only to reclaim what was gone. He'd been so close, so near to that final act, and now he was chilled, his body grounded when he should have been soaring. Why had Cas stopped? Why was he suddenly human again?

His answer came within the moment however, a moment that was both the longest and the shortest he'd felt in a very long time. Cas's lips were even lower now, breaching new territory, and Dean's eyes flew open.

Like his body had, his mind was dropping back to Earth, his whole form tightening as he considered what Cas was doing. Not to say he didn't appreciate what he was doing down there, but Dean had some ability to look into the future, the near future in any case, and had a good idea of where this was going.

And as that idea formed completely in his head, another slammed into him just as fiercely.

He was about to play bottom in this entire performance.

That fact in and of itself wasn't what threw him however, he'd grown accustomed to Cas taking the lead and had kind of known that was going to be the case around the beginning of their encounter. No, it wasn't the act itself, but the fact that he…

That he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

"Cas," his voice came out rough as he tried to get the other man's attention. It was difficult to be forceful however, what with that tongue so far down on him, and he had to blink away the inclination to just lay back and not care, no matter how out of the loop he was. "Cas," he tried to sit up, his quivering, wet, physically-drugged body doing little to help. "Stop a second," he tried to say, though his words were barely audible.

" _Cas_ ," he gulped, his voice a little stricter now. But then there was that tongue, down in places no tongue had ever been, and he both wanted to sink into the feeling and leap away. "Stop!"

There was nothing.

Both breathing heavily, blue met green as Cas turned his attention to Dean's voice. They stared at each other for a moment, as if trying to get a grasp on what they'd just been pulled out of. But a few seconds later, Cas sat up entirely, his legs under him on the couch cushion. Dean couldn't tell what was going through his head however, so instead he fished around for his voice once more.

"Thank you… for stopping," was all he managed to say.

"Is there…" Cas licked his lips and Dean gulped, "… something wrong?" That voice, it was so deep, dirty with gravel, and Dean had half a mind to shake his head "no" and let the event continue. But still his own inexperience struck an embarrassed kind of dread into him.

And with Cas, he'd learned it was best to just be honest.

"I…" his eyes fell to the side, his chest still heaving heavily. "I've never done this before. You know… with a dude…" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I don't know… what's happening." Or what he should do.

He didn't meet Cas's eyes.

If he had however, he would have seen how those shoulders had slowly dropped, Cas's aggressive, forward stance carefully reigned in. Because he could see it in the way Dean had glanced away – his nerves, fear even. The ignorant kind. And despite how much he wanted them to continue, to serve the dreams he'd had for years, he couldn't bring himself to do it with Dean looking so… un-Dean-like.

Unsure.

Dean Winchester, at least not the Dean Winchester Cas envisioned, had ever appeared so tentative. Cas realized that, yes, he'd been taking the reigns thus far, and he was actually quite aroused by the fact that Dean was even letting him. But there was a big difference between looking into those green eyes and seeing acceptance versus anxiety. He didn't want to regret this in the morning, though he knew he probably would. And he didn't want Dean to either, whether that was possible or not. Which meant he had to do everything he could to make this happen as easily for Dean as possible.

He had to slow down.

Eyes closing, Cas ignored the throbbing echoing up from between his legs and instead focused on his breathing. One breath, two breath, three.

Control.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he issued tightly despite how badly he wanted to ignore the "right thing" and go back down on Dean. He wanted the other man so badly, but not badly enough to hurt him. Or himself for that matter. He had more respect for Dean than that. Had more respect for himself. "It's okay," he finished despite how it wasn't. The ache pulling at his body was practically paining him.

"That's not…" Dean didn't appear to be fairing much better as he sat up straight on the couch, continuing to take in Cas's gaze as he opened his blue eyes. "That's not what I meant. I just…" he huffed, exasperated with himself, and was thankful it was probably too dark for Cas to see the blush across his cheeks. "I need you to… walk me through a few things is all."

God, he sounded like a virgin teenager. This was the worst.

"I can do that," Cas verified, his thoughts running ahead as he bulleted the process. It'd been a long time since he'd been in this situation, where there was inexperience to one or more parties, and it was like dragging a dusty checklist from a chest locked away in the attic of his mind. "Do you have any lube?"

"Uh… There might be some in the bathroom." At one point, Dean'd been rather sexually active and the lubricant had been useful in more ways than one. Granted, he didn't sleep around anymore, not like he had, so he hadn't had occasion to check. But he was pretty sure he had some. "I'll get it."

Still sweaty and somewhat frazzled from his exposure to Cas, Dean clumsily stood to his feet before speed walking to the bathroom. He didn't want the high to die after all, though he did fear he'd already killed it. Inexperience did that.

He ignored how his heart fell in his chest as he flicked on the bathroom light and began hastily scrounging through his cupboards and cabinets. He eventually found a bottle that would have to suffice before he jammed the light switch back into the off position and rounded his way back to the couch.

Cas was still sitting there, eyes closed again as he concentrated on his breathing. Dean could see he was doing it even in the dark and frowned before sitting down beside him. Those blue eyes immediately flew open and Dean avoided them.

"I'm sorry…" he sighed while holding up the bottle.

Cas took it from him a moment later, a hand reaching up and taking Dean's chin by the tips of his fingers. Forced to see that face, Dean tried not to feel even more humiliated by the abrupt understanding and patience that was painted there.

"Don't say that," Cas murmured softly. "I'm not." Leaning forward, their lips met once again, eyes closing as Cas gently rested Dean back into the couch cushions. The spiking energy was renewed, though it wasn't nearly as rushed or forceful. Cas was holding back, pacing them, and Dean decided it was easier to just be grateful than continue to beat himself up over it. He had to learn one way or another after all.

Better late than never.

He hoped.

Their lips pulled apart, puffing breath echoing between them as Cas allowed his body to relax over Dean's. They were staring at each other once again, their starving need held back by only the vaguest amount of control.

"You do know where this  _is_  going, correct?" Cas decided to make sure.

"Uh, yeah," Dean replied softly.

"Do you want a step by step walkthrough?" he asked, the heat of his breath splashing over Dean's face. And the way he said such, as if he'd enjoy relaying to Dean exactly what he was doing, turned him on even more. Yet instead of agreeing to what would probably become Cas's specialty, gravelly dirty talk, something else pounced to Dean's tongue.

"I trust you," were the three words that echoed between them, Cas's blue eyes flashing only quickly with what Dean interpreted as surprise. It was swiftly overtaken by a mix of driving desire and affection however. Deep, severe affection that left Dean quite winded.

But when Cas's lips descended to his again, that was quickly forgotten.

 _Everything_  was forgotten aside for two things. How deeply, innately, they wanted each other, and the fact that Dean trusted Cas to make it happen.

To create the friction that would finally bring their world's rocking together.

Ten years.

 _Finally_.

**oOo**

Dean didn't want to go to work. But he could tell by the angle of the sun drifting in through the windows that he should probably get up and get around. If he did, then he'd still have a few hours to get breakfast and shower before leaving.

Yet the couch, which had never been what he'd consider a cloud, was probably the most comfortable place he'd been in a long time. Not that there wasn't a good reason for the sudden development. And that reason was lying on top of him. Sleeping, naked, and surprisingly tan. But then again, Cas had always had a darker complexion, hadn't he?

He wasn't snoring or anything, just softly breathing into Dean's chest. His arms were lazily tucked beneath Dean's back, his legs lying between his own. And Dean, who was becoming more and more fond of the position, allowed his hands to rest comfortably along Cas's spine, fingering the skin softly up and down as he admired that mussed, dark hair.

He knew there was a slight smile on his face.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, in a sentimental place he refused to acknowledge, he wished that time would simply stop and he'd be able to remain on that back-breaking couch forever, admiring that breathing, curved body atop his. He'd continue to stroke the warm, smooth skin beneath his calloused hands and wonder, hazily, if angels had been the ones to mold that perfectly shaped ass.

He grinned a little wider.

The expression was doomed however. A few seconds later, he heard the buzzing sound of his phone, which was set on vibrate inside his pant's pocket. They sat by the door, where he'd dropped them the night before (or Cas had rather) and the noise drowned Dean's smile into a scowl.

He considered ignoring the contraption, instead remaining exactly where he was, but he knew he shouldn't. It could be Bobby, calling him in on emergency because of a tow. Or Sam. Or any number of important things.

He sighed.

Slowly, and as gently as he could, he slid out from beneath Cas, continuing to hold the other man tight as he lowered him fully onto the couch. With only a little bit of an awkward release, Cas was successfully placed upon the cushions, Dean rolling silently to the side and onto his feet. Crouched down, he admired only quickly the way Cas furrowed his brows in sleep, his hands grasping at the cushions almost unhappily.

It was cute.

The buzzing of his phone pulled at the back of Dean's head however and, rolling his eyes, he turned and quietly toed his way over to his pants. Reaching into the pocket, he pulled out the cell before raising it to his ear without bothering to look at the caller ID.

He muttered a quiet hello, waiting for a response.

"You've been selected to win a free trip to the Caraib-" was all he got before he hung up. Irritated, he dropped his phone back atop his pants before standing. Glancing again to Cas, he lamented on the waste it'd been for him get up and wondered how difficult it'd be to wedge himself back in.

It was probably impossible without waking Cas up.

Well, maybe some good could be made of this situation. Dean could have a positive outlook of he had to. Maybe, if he acted fast enough, he could get the morning going before Cas awoke. Jump in the shower and get out in time to make breakfast. Make it all cheesy and romantic.

Dean could be romantic.  _Fuckin'_  romantic.

Nodding to himself, he decided that his new plan of action was definitely a winner. Stretching away his sleep and yawning once, he ignored the soreness to his wavering backdoor before making his way across the apartment. He glanced quickly at Cas on the way, smiling once more before tearing his eyes away and vanishing into the bathroom.

He'd get cleaned up, shower real quick, before heading back out to his kitchen to see what his fridge had to offer.

Cas liked eggs, right? Of course he did; everyone liked eggs.

His thoughts took to distracting him as he turned on the water, as he placed and processed how his morning was going to proceed in the best possible way.

It was probably for this reason that he failed to hear the front door open and close.

And why, as he stepped back out into the apartment some ten minutes later, he was stunned by the fact that he was alone. Cas was gone, nowhere to be seen. His clothes were missing too, and there was a coldness to the apartment.

As if he'd never been.


	9. Honest Lies

"You  _left_?" Anna hissed for the second time, Cas's face buried in his hands as he hunched over on Chuck's couch. "What… why?"

"I don't know," he replied hopelessly, his other three friends listening in on the conversation from their positions seated around the small living room. Though it was still a considerable amount bigger, and newer, than Dean's. That fact was neither here nor there as far as Cas was concerned however.

"Did you even tell him you were leaving?" Balthazar asked with curious concern, his eyebrows furrowed.

"No," Cas shook his head. "He was in the shower."

"So let me get this straight," Anna was sounding more and more furious by the moment. "You slept with this guy, who you've sort of been in love with your whole life," Cas raised his head, as if to object, but Anna kept going. "And he didn't make you leave. No, he let you stay, and the first moment you got, you ran away?" She pounded her fists to her hips. "What is wrong with you Cas?"

"He would have made me leave," Cas lied, if only to try and defend his own panicked actions.

"You don't know that," Anna rebuked hotly. "You don't know tha-"

"I do," Cas stated coldly, his tone silencing her. "What happened last night… it doesn't usually happen. Dean Winchester doesn't sleep with men, especially me." His eyes fell back to the carpet, his lips tightening. "I'm sure he regrets it."

Which was why he'd been so intent the day before, hadn't it? Because he'd been offered this once in a lifetime opportunity that he'd known would be over as soon as the morning came. There was no other solution, no other way. Simply put, Cas didn't get to have Dean Winchester. It'd always been that way. Always.

Why would that change now?

"Cas…" Anna's expression had softened considerably as she walked over and sat down beside him. "You don't know that," she tried to soothe, Cas saying nothing in response. "If he hadn't wanted to… be with you, then he wouldn't have. Maybe it's hard for you to believe, but all of us could tell he was interested in you."

"But why?" Cas asked quietly, his insecurities and fear still getting the better of him. "Why now?"

"Why not now?" Balthazar shrugged. "This is the first time you've seen him since high school, isn't it? Maybe he's considered you before now." Maybe Cas's confession all those years ago had been so abrupt that Dean hadn't been able to digest it. Not until after it was too late.

Cas was shaking his head. "It's not possible."

"It is," Anna encouraged. "It happened. Straight men don't randomly sleep with other men.  _That's_  impossible." Especially if they were going to play bottom. Society's idea of masculinity hardly encouraged it into their mental capacity. Let alone the idea of being the vulnerable one. Granted, Anna and Balthazar didn't know how things had actually played out as far as the idea, but Cas did. Despite this however, he just… couldn't believe it was real.

"No," he continued to object. "Dean could have anyone he wanted. I'm not-"

"Okay Cas, listen to me," Anna's voice was gentle but firm. "You have placed Dean Winchester on this impossible pedestal. I understand why, but you have to stop. Both for his sake and for yours." Cas's blue eyes flicked up to her. "I know that, to you, Dean Winchester is… everything. But, honey, I'm gonna lay some facts down for you.

"He's uneducated," she numbered off on her fingers. "He's a mechanic that probably gets paid just above the poverty line. He's living in an apartment that's, let's be honest, not that great. No girlfriend, hardly any family. Cas, it doesn't matter how good-looking he is, he's not the pick of the litter. Not anymore.

"And you're an amazing person for not seeing those things in him," she tried to make up for her previous statements. "Those sorts of things don't matter to you, which makes you an angel compared to the rest of us." Cas's eyes flicked back to the floor. "But you need to see reality now, because continuing to hold Dean in that high of esteem doesn't help either of you."

She paused to take a breath.

"Maybe what happened seems impossible to you, but I think you need to consider Dean's feelings too." Cas furrowed his brows, offended that she'd suggest he hadn't. "You hold him so high above yourself that you're failing to acknowledge that he's… human. Honey," she put her hand on his shoulder. "How do you think he felt when he came out of that bathroom and you were gone? I know you don't see yourself this way, but let me break it down for you.

"You got out of this town. You went to school. You have a great job, a great apartment, a nice car. You still have your family, who loves you." Lies irrelevant at this point. "You're someone that, at this point in Dean's life, he probably never imagined would take a second look at him. So then you two sleep together and you run out. You, this person that he probably views as… much better than himself."

"I'm not," Cas tried to say.

"I know that," she agreed. "But life has kind of kicked him in the ass, if you hadn't noticed." She tried not to sound too sarcastic, but with Cas sometimes she just couldn't help it. "He may do a good job of faking it, but his confidence isn't there. There's no way it could be.

"But then you come back. And maybe he's thought about you over the years. Maybe he finds that he is attracted to you. And then you  _run away_." Her face was stern. "Can't you imagine how low that probably makes him feel? How… used?"

"I didn't use him," Cas tried to defend despite how the horror of Anna's words sank into his head.

"He doesn't know that Cas," she shook her head. "You seem to be stuck in this idea that everything between you two is the same as it was in high school. But it's not. You're the successful one now Cas, you're the… 'popular' one," despite how unpopular he was in Burr. "The situation has been completely reversed.

"And you  _walked out_  on him."

Cas didn't reply, the silence of the room sinking down on them. He'd hadn't considered Dean in the way Anna was suggesting, it was true. To him, Dean would always be that charismatic, easy-smiling, beautiful person. But that wasn't the reality, which he'd failed to see. Not to say Dean wasn't any of those things, but there were other variables now too. Variables Cas had been too caught up in himself to see. He'd been so worried about his own feelings, his own worries, that he'd failed to consider Dean's.

Because, despite what his high school memory might suggest, Dean wasn't that invincible superhero. He was human, he could be injured too, and Cas had the feeling he'd been the one to inflict the hurt this time.

Which in turn pained him. He never wanted to hurt Dean. Ever. The idea made him sick to his stomach. His whole body tensed at the idea, that he'd done something so wrong to the one person he'd treasured above all others.

He had to do something.

He had to fix this.

But… how?

**oOo**

Walking through the door to the shop, Cas looked around only quickly, taking note that it wasn't Dean behind the counter, but Bobby. The man was much older than the last time Cas had seen him, which would make sense since it'd been over ten years. His beard was graying, his stout if not well-versed posture appearing a little more worn. But upon hearing the door close, he glanced over with those penetrating eyes, taking Cas in from head to toe as he slowly approached the counter.

"Castiel Novak," Bobby stated, neither happy nor upset to see him. "Dean said you were in town." Those calculating eyes narrowed slightly. "Also said you already came back to pay yer bill. So why're ya here now?" He laid his wrinkled hands down flat on the counter.

"I was wondering if Dean was here," Cas verified, trying to bring his voice up louder despite his sheepishness.

"He's here," Bobby sounded a little more crotchety. "He's workin.' Anythin' you need doin' though, I'm sure I can manage." It was then that Cas realized he'd insulted the older man unintentionally.

"It's not concerning work," Cas replied quickly. "It's… personal." Bobby furrowed his brows, obviously perplexed, but unlike half the town, he didn't seem too intent on sticking his nose into other people's business. Instead, though still a little puzzled, he took a step back from the counter.

"He's out in the garage," he gestured a thumb backward, toward the door behind him. "You can go talk to him." Nodding his thanks, Cas took in those narrowed eyes for only a moment longer before rounding the counter and heading past Bobby to the door. Grabbing the old, grease rubbed knob, he pulled it open before slipping onto the other side.

The garage wasn't huge, able to hold maybe four cars at a time, but it was well-stocked and apparently well-used, seeing as the capacity for vehicles was nearly full. But, he supposed, when you're the only mechanics in town…

On the far side of the room sat a blue van, the hood propped open, a single man, dressed in the required blue coveralls, leaning into it. Slowly approaching, Cas looked him over, able to see the dirty grease stains from across the room. He was reminded of his discussion with Anna, guilt dropping down on him.

Finally within some five feet of the other man, he cleared his throat.

Dean jumped only a little, his head whipping around to catch Cas in his sights. Yet, despite his initial surprise, his expression dropped almost immediately into irritated disgust. Without a word, he shook his head and returned his attention to the car, his filthy hands going about their diligent duties.

Cas took a deep breath.

"Dean," he issued quietly, trying not to be too perturbed by the cold shoulder. He'd brought it on himself after all. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"What a relief," was the snarky response he was given. "Well, I'm happy for you. Whatever makes you feel better." He hadn't even bothered to look up as he'd spoken, instead continuing to unscrew whatever car part was his current focus. Cas, however, wasn't exactly sure what to make of the response. He could tell it wasn't sincere, which left him feeling a little helpless.

"I mean it Dean," he tried again. "I shouldn't have left, not after-"

"Then why did you?" Dean hissed, finally turning up to look at him again. And Cas could see the anger in his green eyes. But they were guarded too, betrayed even, and Cas felt his whole chest deflate.

"I… I panicked," he tried to explain, though he wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to excuse. Maybe there wasn't an excuse. And Dean still didn't appear to be buying what he was saying. Rather, his mouth fell slightly agape, as if he couldn't understand what he was hearing. Which was reasonable. After all, the night before, Dean had been introduced to this entirely different side of Cas. One that was confident, forceful, and, well, not "panicked." Yet now he was supposed to believe that was why he'd left? Talk about personality whiplash.

"I've never… done that before," Cas verified, meaning he'd never had what might be considered a one-night-stand.

"And I have?" Slept with a man that was. Dean's voice was sharp as he finally removed himself entirely from the car. His lips were tight, as if they held back all his hurt emotions, and Cas had to look away. "You know last night wasn't easy for me," his voice was only just above a whisper. "Don't you realize how difficult that was?" His teeth were gritted, jaws tight. "To… allow that to happen? Don't you…" Growling, he pulled away, fingers rubbing his temple as he retreated.

"Dean…" Cas reached out, as if to somehow comfort him, but decided against it when Dean whipped back to face him.

"It's not easy for a person like me to let just anyone… do me that way." Somehow, his wording wasn't vulgar. "And then you just left, like it was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing," Cas tried again. "Dean, I'm sorry. I'm  _so_  sorry." He was prepared to plead if he had to. "I just… woke up and I… I didn't know what to do."

"How about stick around?" Dean hissed. "How about not running away? How about  _being there_  when  _I_  need you to  _be there_." This was far more personal than perhaps either of them were ready for. But that's what happened when rushing. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe there were some things I'd needed to talk to you about? Things that were… private? That I needed you to… help me with?" His green eyes fell to the ground. "Maybe you've been attracted to men your whole life, but this is all kind of new for me, alright?"

"I know," Cas hastily continued, even though he hadn't really known. "Dean, please, just… I'm sorry…" What else could he say?

"Yeah, I know," Dean snapped, that tight irritation still present in the creases of his expression.

Silence dropped between them, Dean's arms coming up to cross over his chest. He refused to look at Cas, which was that much more torturous for the other man. He was becoming desperate, desperate for some kind of positive response from Dean. He had to make this right. He just had to.

Hesitantly, he took a few steps closer, blue eyes searching Dean's face for any kind of objection. That annoyed expression never changed however, even as Cas found himself within inches of the other man. Still he searched that beautiful face, and still he was given nothing. No leverage.

He gulped.

Reaching out, he brought his hand up, his fingers pinching the fabric of Dean's sleeve gently. With a small tug, he pulled on the uniform. Just enough for it to tighten against Dean's arm.

Those green eyes blinked and sighed, but still they refused to look at Cas.

"What… what time do you get off work?" Cas murmured, hand still pinching that sleeve.

"Ten," Dean snapped and stepped away, Cas's heart dropping as the connection between them was severed. "Late," Dean continued. "We could have had a few hours earlier, but, oh wait, you left." He'd gone back to the car, bending over it and returning to his work. Cas didn't see any of it however, his back to Dean as he frowned sadly down at the concrete floor.

But still… he couldn't give up.

With a deep breath, he turned and approached Dean once again.

"I know it's late," he started quietly, "but… can I come over? I… I want to… talk to you." Be with him, anything. Continue to apologize profusely. Whatever Dean was willing to allow. Whatever he could get. Because he knew he couldn't be at Bobby's Shop much longer, not without interfering in the work needing to be done.

Dean, pausing with his hands shoved back in the car, took a deep breath as he considered the question. Part of him wanted to say yes, to jump on the idea, but another part of him, the part that had trouble trusting anyone, was still angry. And hurt.

And afraid.

But his desire to see Cas was stronger, for the time being, and, despite how he disliked the idea, he supposed all he could do was say yes.

He had to.

Leaning out of the car, he slowly turned his attention to Cas, who was searching his expression frantically. He continued to sport his irritation however, despite the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

"Fine," he issued coldly, green eyes going again to the side. He was still able to make out the way Cas's shoulders dropped in relief, which only served to irritate him further. "That doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you," he added, just for good measure.

"I know," Cas replied simply. "It's okay." He wasn't going to object to that. So long as he knew he was going to see Dean again, he could be happy for the time being. Or relieved, in any case.

Maybe he could test the waters a little further however, or dampen the flames.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he allowed his hand to reach for Dean again, only this time he laid it softly on the other man's chest. Glancing around quickly, to make sure no one else was there, he maintained that they were alone before leaning up.

Quickly, he laid his lips against Dean's, not really expecting to get anything out of it. So he was surprised when, within the moment, Dean returned the kiss, if only lightly.

The contact was over as quickly as it'd come, Cas leaning back to catch those green eyes. They retained eye contact this time around, but were still stoically annoyed.

Supposing that was what he'd have to settle for, Cas retreated a step, holding their stare for only a second longer before turning away. Glancing back only once as he left, he frowned to see that Dean had simply returned to his work, but supposed he should be grateful.

Hopefully things would be better later that night.

**oOo**

"Dean, would you just tell me why you're so irritated?" Sam asked for the third time during their five-minute conversation. "I can tell through the phone that something's wrong, so just spit it out already."

"There's nothing wrong with me," Dean defended heatedly.

"Don't lie to me."

Dean growled.

Mostly because he knew it was only a matter of time before he had "happy feelings time" with his little brother. Sam wasn't going to rest until he got to the root of the problem and, to be honest, Dean wanted to talk to him about it. He had to put up the right amounts of manly objections first however.

"You don't want to know," Dean fake-decided.

Sam sighed. "Yes, I do Dean. Do we really have to go through this or will you just tell me already?" Holding the phone to his ear with one hand and driving home through the darkness with the other, Dean pretended to consider his words before deciding it was now appropriate to give in.

He was almost back to his apartment anyway, which meant he was running out of time.

"It's Cas," he stated.

"Castiel Novak?" Sam questioned, not at all up to date on what had been going on. "What happened?"

"We…" Dean cleared his throat. "Well, before I go there, I should probably tell you this."

"What?"

"Turns out that, uh," Dean shrugged despite the fact that his brother couldn't see, "that I'm… bisexual?"

Pause.

"You slept with him, didn't you?"

"What?!" Dean sputtered. "Why? How did you…? Is that really all you have to say? I just admitted to you that I'm attracted to dudes and that's the conclusion you jump to?" He was offended, to say the least. No matter how true it was.

"Dean, no offense, but it's not really all that surprising. I've kind of had my suspicions since… forever." Dean wasn't exactly subtle when it came to who he checked out, and Sam had seen his eyes wandering to other men every once in a while, even if his older brother hadn't realized it was happening.

" _What_?!" Dean said again. "How…" he huffed. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because you would have taken  _that_  well." Dean could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "But we need to get past this," because,  _apparently_ , it was old news. "So, you slept with Castiel."

"I never said that."

"I know you did."

Dean sighed.

"So," Sam sounded of caring curiosity. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Dean grinned. "Well, if you really want to know…"

"You know what I mean," Sam growled.

Dean didn't answer right away, trying to figure out the best way to phrase not so much what had happened, but why it'd upset him. He eventually gave up however, hoping Sam would just "get it." He was usually pretty good at that kind of stuff.

"Well, I woke up and went to the bathroom," he found his previously heightened mood dropping. "And when I came back out, he was gone." Hopefully, that was explanation enough.

"He left?" Sam repeated. "Wow. And you… have a problem with this?" He wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't. "Well… have you heard anything from him? Called him? Or anything?"

"He stopped by the shop earlier," Dean resumed his explanation. "He apologized, I guess," Dean's voice echoed of irritation again. "And then he asked if he could come over after I got out of work, and I said he could. But I don't know what I'm supposed to say to him when I get there." Mostly he was still angry, though his temper had simmered some since earlier, and, though he wanted to see Cas, he also didn't.

"I'm assuming you didn't forgive him," Sam could tell by the sound of his voice. "Did he tell you why he left? I mean, if he'd left and not tried to apologize, then I'd say it was pretty obvious why, but…"

"He said he panicked," Dean sighed. "Which I guess I can understand…"

"Then… what's the problem?" Sam asked.

"The fact that he left at all!" Dean tried to explain through his frustration. "I don't know. I just… Sure we slept together, but it wasn't like a one-night-stand. I didn't…" he tried to push back the redness pursuing his face. He couldn't believe he was actually talking about this. "I didn't know what I was doing, really, and I… I trusted him." Something he didn't do very often, about anything.

"You trusted him," Sam repeated. "And then he left."

"Yes…"

"Dean…" Sam took a deep, collective breath. "You need to forgive him." Dean pursed his lips. "I know you have 'trust issues,' but he didn't mean to hurt you, from the sounds of it. And the fact that he's trying to make it right says a lot.

"Plus, it sounds to me like you… really like him," otherwise he wouldn't care. "I know that… that maybe it's hard," scary, "to face that, but using this as an excuse to be angry with him isn't really justified. The guy was in  _love_  with you once," Dean's hand tightened on the steering wheel. "Of course he was… panicked. Give him, and yourself, a break."

"Sammy…" Dean pursed his lips, his voice soft. "What if… what if he leaves again though…?"

"You can't live life constantly fearing that Dean," Sam comforted. "I know our parents died, and the rest of our family abandoned us, and that stuff went to shit, but… that doesn't mean everything will. Sometimes you have to just take a chance and hope for the best."

Dean sighed. He hated how in-concrete life could be.

"Forgive him Dean, and then forget it happened."

"Easier said than done…"

"Not if you want it enough. Love is blind, remember?"

"I'm not in love with him."

"Whatever."

"Fine," Dean turned the Impala into the parking lot of his complex. "I'll do what you say, but I swear…"

"Trust me Dean."

And he did. Saying their farewells, Dean parked his car before heading up to his apartment. As he rounded the corner off the stairs to his door however, he had to pause, his eyes blinking in surprise as he caught sight of that slumped figure.

Leaning against the wall beside his door, staring down at his phone, was Cas. He looked completely miserable really, dressed in his trench coat and black slacks. And he hadn't noticed yet that Dean was there.

Allowing his chest to deflate of some of its on-guard irritation, Dean slowly pushed his feet back into motion as he approached the other man. Stopping directly in front of him, he knew it was impossible that Cas hadn't noticed him by then and he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for those blue eyes to look up at him.

Slowly, they did, uncertainty and regret obvious in their depths. Dean refused to allow his expression to soften, even as his feelings did, and instead cocked a skeptical brow. No words were exchanged however, not even as Cas stood. Instead, after a few more moments of eye contact, Dean turned his attention to his door and unlocked it. Shoving his way inside, he didn't look back to invite Cas in, but he also didn't shut the door.

With dragging footfalls, Cas trailed him inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dean didn't even acknowledge him now that they were both inside however. Instead, he went to his room, flicking the lights on as he went. And Cas, who didn't know what else he could do, followed. Standing in the doorway to Dean's shabby bedroom, he watched with shamed eyes as those mandatory coveralls were shed to reveal ratty jeans and a charcoal t-shirt. Not seeming to care that he was there, Dean then shook off the jeans before grabbing a pair of navy sweatpants.

He slipped them on and walked right past his guest back into the rest of the apartment.

Cas tried not to allow his anxiety and misery to show through, but it was nearly impossible. The heartbreak was painted all over his face. He continued to watch Dean however, despite how painful the silence was, and remained near the edge of the living room as Dean rummaged around in his kitchen.

Eventually, he came into his living room with some kind of ham and cheese sandwich. He sat down on the couch, setting his beer down on the coffee table, and sighed.

Cas remained where he was, standing off to the side, and ignored how his breathing shook inside his chest.

Then, finally, Dean looked up at him.

Lips pursed, he laid his hand on the couch beside him, that couch which was the same from the night before, and motioned for Cas to sit. Hesitating for only a moment, he did as was issued and placed himself upon the cushion. He remained somewhat hunched however, and wouldn't look up.

Dean, honestly, hadn't seen someone look so ashamed in his life. It softened his disposition further, which only, in turn, made him feel more insecure.

"Dean," Cas murmured, voice trembling, "I really am sorry…"

"I know," Dean verified shortly, those blue eyes finally flicking up. "I just… need some time, alright? I've got…" he sat back. "Trust issues. Or so says my little brother." He knew he was being more honest than his fear advised, but, for whatever reason, it was easy to talk to Cas. It was easy to trust him, even though he really didn't want to.

He wanted to be honest, maybe for the first time in his life.

"You can trust me," Cas assured quickly, Dean cracking a half-smile. "I won't ever do that again." And he meant it. Not after he'd had to agonize over it all day. Over whether Dean was going to forgive him or not, or even tolerate him. He still wasn't sure if he was in the clear.

"You promise?" Dean was grinning fully now, his posture relaxed, and Cas tried to take comfort in that.

"Yes," he assured without a second thought, scooting slightly closer to Dean.

Dean seemed to consider him then, appearing thoughtful before their gazes met once again. "Alright, I guess I believe you," he shrugged and Cas's shoulders dropped in relief. "I can give you one more chance." His smile broadened, those beautiful white teeth set on display, and Cas allowed the slightest of grins to pull at the corners of his lips.

Curiosity, though, always got the better of him, and as Dean started to bite into his sandwich, Cas furrowed his brows and frowned.

"Why do you have trust issues?"

Dean swallowing his food appeared almost painful.

"Ah, well," Cas had cocked his head to the side in that adorable, childish way and Dean tried to fish around for something to say. "Sammy seems to think it has something to do with our parents dying." He shrugged, wondering, and hoping, that such an explanation made everything obvious.

"I see…" Cas murmured. "I'm sorry it was so long before I found out." He apologized for something he had absolutely no control over. "It almost makes me wish I'd been here." If only to provide positive thoughts. Because Dean probably wouldn't have cared whether he was there or not.

"I'm glad you weren't," Dean decided, continuing to munch on his late-night dinner. "I was a mess. Everything was. Our parents hadn't had any insurance, their debt was… huge. We lost everything." His eyes were pained upon remembering.

"I could have helped you…"

"I wouldn't have let you," Dean smiled over at him.

"I know," Cas finally allowed his grin to develop fully, which sent an excited jolt through Dean's entire system.

"It's funny though," Dean looked ahead again. "I remember thinking of you sometimes back then, wondering what you were doing," his expression dropped. "Now that I consider it though, I think I was just desperate for someone to… be there." Love him. "I guess loneliness will make you feel that way."

"Are you lonely now?" Cas leaned the side of his head back against the couch.

"Mmm, no," he decided. "At least, not like that," he turned to face Cas again. "That's not the only reason I want you here, if that's what you're asking." Sure, he liked the company, but he didn't  _need_ the support like he'd craved ten years before.

"I wasn't asking that," Cas assured, still with that light smile, and Dean tried not to be taken completely by it. "What are the reasons you want me here?" He was being flirty now, Dean could tell. In a secret, shy kind of way that Cas would be flirty. Really, it was a wonder he could be so forceful when it came to sex. Lady in the street, tiger in the bedroom, or something like that.

"I think last night is reason enough," Dean winked and a slight sliver of Cas's teeth were only quickly visible, his eyes crinkling at the sides for just a moment.

"You mentioned something about that earlier," Cas continued. "That you wanted to… talk about it?" That smile was gone now, replaced by curiosity, and Dean found that he regretted having brought it up at all earlier that day.

"Well," he glanced away. "I mean… I dunno…" He tried to push the redness that had risen up his neck back to his stomach, or a place equally less visible.

"Are you uncomfortable with it?" With the fact that he'd slept with a man, and been on the receiving end. It was kind of like a double whammy for someone who'd prided himself on being a straight lady's man his whole life.

"Not… really," Dean supposed. "I guess I'm just… trying to get a handle on it, or something." He had no idea. Maybe it was simply the newness of it all that made him uneasy, or the fact that, though he'd been through one night, he was still inexperienced. "I guess I just… don't want to embarrass myself."

"You won't," Cas grinned again, which relaxed Dean. "I'll make sure of that." He paused. "Did you… enjoy what happened last night?" Because Cas could play both sides, if that really made Dean happier. Granted, he usually delivered, but he'd also done both.

"Uh, well," Dean rubbed his neck uncomfortably, unable to stop the pink from stretching to his cheeks. "Not… really…?"

"Oh…"

"I'm lying," Dean added a second later.

"Oh…?"

"I enjoyed it," he admitted with an eye roll, causing Cas's teeth to flash once again. "A lot." Despite the pain at some points. "Don't tell anyone I said that," which was a stupid rule to dictate, but he said stupid things when he was nervous.

"I don't think anyone else will have need to know," Cas assured.

"You never know," Dean shrugged. "I mean, there's always threesomes, or a ménage a trois. I'd definitely have to pretend like I didn't want you doing that… then." His wit was lacking considerably.

"So you want to keep doing it then?" Cas ignored the allusions to other people getting involved, mostly because he'd never let that happen. He had absolutely no intention of sharing Dean with anyone. "Because I'd like to keep doing it."

"I… could do it again…" A lot. Over and over again. With Cas, yes, constantly. He could totally do that.

Cas had scooted closer to him still. "Do you," he laid his chin on Dean's shoulder, "want to do it right now?"

"Now?" Dean stared down at those wondering blue eyes with questioning brows. "Uh, yes?" Because he was definitely going to be able to refuse that face. "But, uh, you said last night that you used up the rest of my lube…"

Cas reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a new bottle, a brand that Dean didn't recognize, but supposed would probably work better for what they were doing than what he'd had. Cas knew best after all, or so he was going to assume.

"You brought that with you?" Dean smiled and laughed. "Even though I was still mad at you?"

"I always try to be prepared, if I can help it," Cas replied, totally serious as his chin moved against Dean's shoulder. "Make-up sex is the best kind after all." Not that the two of them had much to compare it to at that point.

"I'm pretty sure all kinds are the best kinds," Dean assured.

"You haven't used enough toys then."

Dean scoffed, not able to believe those words had just come from between those perfect, angelic lips. "That's kinky…" he muttered, wondering just how much more wild and pushy Cas could get between the sheets. Maybe he was getting himself in over his head here.

"Yup," Cas nodded with a full, happy smile, which Dean had to, of course, return.

"Well, let's make sure you run any ideas by me first, okay?" Might as well set some ground rules while he still had the chance.

"You don't like surprise parties?" Cas had frowned overdramatically, playfully. "I do. Especially when I can sneak up on you from behind." Dean gaped fully then, mostly just shocked at what he was hearing. It was just so… dirty. But innocent too. A strange combination that was definitely turning him on.

"You, sir, need to get your urges under control," Dean scolded. "Your mind is definitely in the gutter."

"You could join me there," Cas replied. "It's nice and wet down here."

Dean gaped again, and laughed. "You've been living in Chicago way too long," he decided. "You've been corrupted. What happened to that dweeby kid I used to know? It's like he's been swallowed by a monster."

"I could swallow you next."

"I'm so disappointed," Dean shook his head, feigning sadness. "Here I thought I was with some kind of…angel, but you're definitely not."

"I don't believe in angels."

"Neither do I," Dean whispered, smiling once more as he took in those now heavy blue eyes. Blue that was dangerously close. Within the moment, their lips had met, Cas leaning up as Dean reached around and gripped Cas's thigh tightly within his strong grasp. And were it not for an abrupt, jolting shriek, things might have continued to progress.

Instead, lips freezing against one another, Cas listened as his phone rang inside his pocket for some few seconds before finally breaking away. He didn't miss the impatience in Dean's eyes however as he retrieved it.

Glancing down at the screen, he felt his heart jump at what he read.

 _Michael_.

Staring down at it for a few more seconds, he considered only quickly, back and forth, whether he should answer it or not. Eventually, his thumb coming forward, he took a deep breath and pressed the "decline" button.

As he did however, his phone then alerted him to the fact that he had seven missed calls.

Seven missed calls from  _Michael_.

"Who's that?" Dean asked, his voice husky, and Cas quickly flicked his gaze up and took in those impatient green eyes.

He grinned at the corners of his lips.

"No one," he assured. "No one important." And he leaned back into Dean.


	10. Alone

"You know Castiel," his mother sounded scolding, "I'd like to see you at  _some_  point. You are my son after all." She was very displeased, Cas forcefully shoving Dean back with his elbow as he held his cell to his ear. "I know it's important that you visit with your friends, but I feel like I've hardly seen you since you got here."

"Yes, you're right," Dean had wrapped his arms around Cas's bare middle, his lips attacking his shoulder, and Cas tried to wriggle away. Only half-heartedly however. "I'll be home today, I promise."

"Good," his mother sounded satisfied. "You know, it's okay for you to hang out with your friends at home too. I'd like to see all of you, if that's of any consequence." Dean was running his tongue up Cas's neck and it took all that was in his power not to moan into the phone.

"Yes Mother," his voice was tight. "I'll make sure to bring everyone over."

"And bring Dean Winchester too," she added. "He's such a nice boy. I want to get to know him better."

"Of course," Cas tried to lean away from those lips, but he could do very little about the hand reaching down between his legs. "I'll… definitely invite him over."

"Oh good," Naomi huffed, sounding far too upbeat for six in the morning. Cas wanted to end the conversation there, but before he could, his mother spoke again. "Where are you now?" she questioned. "Are you at Dean's place again?"

How perceptive of her. "Yes," Cas ground out, teeth gritted. He didn't want to lie if he could help it after all. "That's where I, we, all are." Because his friends were supposed to be with him. Which would actually be quite uncomfortable considering the way Dean was currently stroking him.

"Oh. What are you doing?" Really? She was going to ask that?

"Just… stuff," Cas's brain was far too distracted to come up with a real excuse, or a fake one rather. "Guy stuff, you know." Again, honesty was best. "Actually," he tried to take advantage of the opportunity. "I really should go. Dean… needs me for something."

"Oh alright," his mother agreed to his farewell with a rather chipper voice. "I'll see you later then honey."

"Right, goodbye Mother," he tried to take the phone from his ear.

"Oh Castiel!"

"What?!" he hadn't meant to sound so sharp, but apparently she hadn't minded.

"I love you honey."

"Love you too Mother," he added quickly and yanked the phone from his ear before hanging up. Tossing it over the side of the bed, he then sank into Dean's chest, eyes closing as he leaned the back of his head onto that broad shoulder. Despite how irritating Dean's instigations had been, he'd easily been able to forgive him, what with the heavy petting going on.

"Should we stop?" Dean whispered breathy words into his ear. "Sounds like Naomi might want to see you a little more." He was grinning, Cas could hear it.

"Don't bring my mother into this," Cas muttered, breathing deeply as Dean slowed in his stroking. "I am slightly offended however." Dean stopped fully then, seeming to hint at his questioning look despite the fact that Cas couldn't see him. "You're desire to have me here is less than my mother's? That makes me feel most unwanted."

"It shouldn't," Dean replied, his hands dropping fully from between those legs as Cas turned to face him. "Your mother is quite attached to you, or so I've noticed." Cas had run his hands up Dean's sides, his fingers taking in that sinewy skin and muscle.

"I'm still offended," Cas decided, their bare chests bumping as Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's neck. Foreheads coming together, they stared eye-to-eye, intent. "You should want me ten times more. If not, I must be doing something wrong."

"You're not doing  _anything_  wrong," Dean assured with a lopsided grin. "Trust me."

"I can't," Cas shrugged simply, his hands having migrated forward, those muscled pecks beneath his palms. "I, apparently, can do better."

"Oh yeah?" they were both grinning, lost in each other as Cas slowly laid Dean back on the bed. "Prove it."

"I have every intention of doing so," Cas assured, his lips finding Dean's neck as they fell softly back into the sheets. Early morning moonlight streamed in through the window, casting it's silver glow across the bed, and Dean closed his eyes to it, relishing in the way those lips, and that  _tongue_ , maneuvered their way down his chest. The work was done quickly, both of them fully mindful of where this was going.

Lower, that was.

And as Dean felt that hot breath between his legs, he steadied his breathing, if only in preparation, and ignored the grating ringtone abruptly assaulting his ears. Cas ignored it too, reminding himself that he needed to put his phone on vibrate, as Dean's was.

The ringing was only a slight distraction, Dean's hips thrusting upward as those lips closed around him. His skin dragged across the already sweaty, sticky sheets, which he'd have to wash whenever they were finally done. Until then, he didn't see the point. They'd been going at it all night, acquiring an hour of sleep or so every once in a while. Truly, he didn't want the day to come. So long as the moon was hovering outside, the rest of the world could call, but that was all. They were completely within their social rights to remain exactly where they were.

The ringing ended, Dean's voice echoing of an involuntary moan he didn't allow to escape his lips. Instead, it thrummed his throat, Cas mimicking the noise and allowing it to vibrate outwards, which pulled a small smile of pleasure across Dean's lips. He kept his eyes closed however, allowing his body to diminish to only where Cas was, all his other senses numbed.

Which was why he was easily able to ignore it, again, when Cas's phone started up once more.

That mouth never faltered on him, selective hearing apparently a gift they both shared. Reaching up, Dean allowed his sparking, only somewhat capable of feeling fingers to find that disheveled dark hair. Holding tight, his breath came a little faster as he met Cas's motions with his hips. Glided them deftly in rhythm with the steps Cas had established. A dance they'd already performed three times that night, though that was a waltz Dean had quickly learned to lead.

He wasn't going to be totally submissive after all.

The phone died again.

That warm tongue slipped up and down, Dean abruptly aware of the way the sheets rubbed, scraped, against his sensitive skin with every movement he made. It sent shocks across and around, building at his base as his fist relaxed and tensed with the tempo, the texture of Cas's hair that much more endearing. Smooth, conditioned, and the idea of such pulled another moan from his lips, though this time his lips couldn't keep it held at bay.

The phone rang.  _Again_.

Cas's movements finally faltered, knocked slightly off-course, and Dean's moan became a pathetic whimper he couldn't control. His fist clenched tighter to Cas's hair, willing him to stay right where he was.

They were hardly over halfway.

But those lips eventually left him open to the chilled air, no amount of desire keeping Cas where he should have been.

"That's three times now," Cas turned to look where he'd tossed his phone, Dean collapsing, defeated and abruptly annoyed, onto the mattress. Which now felt more itchy than anything else.

He frowned.

Sliding off the bed, Cas crouched down and swiped his phone from the floor before bending back up onto the mattress. Sitting on the edge, he glanced down at the ringing contraption to see that it was Anna calling him. Eyebrows furrowed, he punched the answer button before holding it to his ear.

"Hello?" he questioned, Dean growling behind him.

"About damn time you picked up," she started in on him. "I figured you'd have to if I called enough times. Can't ignore me forever." Cas's shoulders dropped, Dean sitting up behind him and placing his chin on his shoulder. He was eavesdropping.

"Is there a problem?" Cas inquired.

"Yes, there's a problem!" She snapped. "While you and your new boy-toy have been having sex, and then make-up sex I assume," since she'd heard nothing out of her friend, "I've been sleeping on Chuck's couch!" Cas's lips tightened. "He gets up at six, did you know that? Has to work. So now I'm up. And I figured that, since my sleep got interrupted, I'd call you up and interrupt whatever it was you were doing." There was spite dripping from her words.

"You were successful," Cas replied dryly, deciding not to elaborate.

"Good," Anna replied smartly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate if you'd climb on down from atop Dean Winchester," as if he were a tree or something, "and come in that fancy car of his to pick me and Balthazar up. We'd like to change our clothes seeing as we haven't been back to your house in a day and a half. What with you sleeping with Dean and then freaking out about it."

Every muscle in Cas's face tightened, but he couldn't fight her. She was right after all.

"You're just jealous!" Dean shouted into the phone. "Which I can't blame you for."

"Fuck you Dean Winchester!" she spat.

"Sorry, but I'm taken at the mome-"

Hand flat against Dean's face, Cas shoved him back onto the bed. He collapsed with a grunt.

"We'll be there soon," Cas assured.

"Yeah, I thought so," Anna stated before the line died, Cas not really all that concerned over her anger. It was justified, really. He had been acting quite inconsiderate as of late. Not that he regretted it, what with Dean being involved and everything.

"I don't want to get up," Dean whined as Cas turned to look down at him. He found the sight of that naked form, which was twisting rebelliously into the sheets, quite pleasing. He smiled.

"We have to," Cas decided with a sigh. "Anna has a point."

"I don't care about Anna," was the childish response.

"Well I do," Cas shrugged and Dean groaned. Leaning over him, hands placed on either side of the other man's head, Cas tried to grant him a comforting smile, one that shone through only in his eyes, but Dean just huffed like the grump Cas remembered he could be.

Leaning down, he kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Your freckles are cute," he muttered before leaning up, green eyes watching him. Scooting to the edge of the bed, he tossed his body into standing before turning back to Dean. The other man was rising as well, though in a slow, cinderblock type fashion.

"That's cuz I'm adorable," Dean pouted, his voice still put off even as he slid to the edge as well.

"It's true," Cas agreed, holding out a hand to the other man, who took it before being yanked into standing. Their fingers remained entwined however, Dean's taller form approaching Cas as if being dragged. "I won't contradict you."

"Good," Dean finally grinned, but only a little. "You would do good to know that I'm always right." Cas cocked a skeptical brow. "Also, you're beautiful." He smiled wider.

Cas rolled his eyes. "Well that's certainly not something I want to disagree with."

"I think I've made my point," Dean shrugged innocently, Cas's lips pursing in disapproval even as Dean tightened his fingers around his own. Cas appreciated the gesture, returning it, but that didn't change any of their new plans. "One of us should get in the shower," he decided, because he'd probably have to be the mature one.

"Or…" Dean raised a knowing finger, "we could  _both_  get in the shower." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Shower sex is very difficult," Cas observed with little tact, which only made Dean grin still.

"I didn't take you for the type to shy away from a challenge."

"I'm not," Cas defended quickly. "I was just making sure  _you_  understood."

" _I_  understand," Dean assured.

"Well then," Cas started to walk towards the bathroom, tugging Dean by the hand behind him. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Dean verified as they strolled in.

**oOo**

"Oh, and by the way," Anna was huffing around Chuck's living room, gathering what few things she'd had upon spending the night there, "it's  _really_  awkward when Chuck has to go to work and we have to stay here. Just so you know." She tossed her purse violently against the couch where her sweater was lying.

"I said I was sorry," Cas replied stiffly from his position in the plush chair perpendicular to the couch. Dean was wedged in beside him, Cas snuggled up to him while the other man laid his muscular arm around the back of the seat. "It won't happen again." Maybe.

"It will," Dean affirmed without much care, Cas casting him only a slightly disapproving eye. He got a devious grin in return, Anna glaring at them both before huffing and shaking her head, perhaps defeated. "In any case," Dean sighed, looking away from Cas, "I have to get to work."

Cas frowned, leaning the side of his face against the back of the couch and not making any attempts to move, which he'd have to do if the other man was to get up.

"Good!" Anna pointed at him accusingly. "You're a bad influence." Balthazar chuckled, but didn't comment.

"You're just jealous," Dean determined, winking once at Anna before turning back to Cas and, thus, ignoring how she fumed. "Seriously though," he was focused on the man practically sitting in his lap, "Bobby has me scheduled to come in at eight, so I'll probably already be late." Cas had noticed he'd grabbed his work uniform when they'd left.

"When do you get off?" Cas couldn't hide the poutiness sinking his expression as he fingered the collar of Dean's t-shirt. He didn't meet those green eyes watching him, instead preferring to frown.

"Four, maybe, if things are slow," he replied quietly, Anna and Balthazar listening to the exchange silently. They could both tell that what they were witnessing was the infamous, exciting, and often times short-lived beginnings of a relationship. This development, however, didn't make either of them the least bit happy for Cas.

Not after the phone call Anna had gotten earlier that morning…

"You should come over," Cas muttered, still watching his fingers trail Dean's collar, almost childishly. "After you get out. My mother wants me to spend time with her," finally those blue peepers flicked up, Dean's expression far too soft considering. But he'd deny he'd looked so if anyone ever brought it up. "It'll be a lot more tolerable if you're there," he finished quietly and Dean grinned.

"I can  _probably_  make that happen," he flirted quietly as he leaned in, his forehead touching Cas's softly as they stared at each other. Anna wasn't sure whether to melt at the sweetness or throw up. It was like they'd completely forgotten she and Balthazar were even there. Again.

"'Probably' isn't a certainty," Cas muttered, though there was a small smile pulling at his lips as well, a slight sliver of his teeth displayed for the room. Which actually managed to take Anna and Balthazar by surprise. Cas didn't smile. Ever. Only when he was really happy did that happen. Like when he finished a piece he'd been working on for ages, or scored a place in a gallery. And even then the expression was fleeting.

It didn't stick like it was now.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to be kept wondering," Dean murmured, almost seductively, before he closed his eyes and leaned forward. Cas was producing a full-blown smile at this point, meeting Dean's lips in response despite how his grin interfered. Not that Dean wasn't smiling too of course.

The sound of their lips meeting echoed around the room for a moment, Anna rolling her eyes as she watched. The contact was short-lived however. Dean severed it, leaning back to look at Cas for a moment longer before huffing. Gently pushing the other man to the side of the chair, he slid out from underneath him and got to his feet.

They stared at each other the  _whole time_.

Even as Dean rounded the chair as if to head for the door, Cas turned in his seat to watch him go. And Dean, who glanced over his shoulder as he walked, slowed upon seeing those intense blue eyes trained on him. He was still within range of Cas's reach and, hand outstretched, he tugged at the bottom of Dean's shirt. As if that should mean something.

Despite how Anna and Balthazar wondered, Dean apparently knew exactly what was being asked of him however. His smile, which had been sharp and bright moments before, appeared once again, though softer. Placing both his hands on the back of the chair, he leaned down and met Cas's lips once again, who was leaning up.

This kiss was different than the few from moments before. Both Anna and Balthazar could see that. When they'd been sitting in the chair before, the kisses they'd shared had been short, flirty. Casual.

But this… It was longer, deeper, both men totally indulged. The world around them was gone, the two of them the only things that mattered in that moment. And the thought of such, of what she saw before her, made Anna's gut wrench, her focus falling to the side where her cell phone was sitting on the couch.

Her shoulders dropped.

Eventually the two pulled away, still blissful as they whispered what Anna could only describe as "sweet nothings" to each one another. Dean then reached up and allowed his hand to sift through Cas's hair until it fell to his cheek. Exchanging one final look, self-control was finally initiated and the two broke apart. Turning away, Dean waved shortly behind him, apparently to the rest of the room, before finding his way to the door.

He left, Cas abandoned to sit backward in the chair and stare after him.

Anna pursed her lips against the silence.

"So you two seem to have gotten… close…" she observed tightly, Balthazar remaining silent despite knowing where the conversation was headed. But it was better that way. Anna was much more adept at controversy than he was.

It was a few seconds before Cas finally turned to answer.

"I suppose," was all he offered, a cliché air of depression overwhelming him as he sat back in his chair. As if he missed Dean already.

"Well, I'm happy for you," she decided, though even Cas could sense the "but" approaching her speech. "And I'm not trying to… ruin your morning or anything, but," there is was, "you should probably know that I got a call from… Michael last night." She paused. "A rather hysterical call actually." She'd gone over to the couch to organize her things.

"He called me too…" Cas observed quietly.

"I know," Anna nodded, finally sitting down and glancing up at Cas fully. "He told me. Actually, he told me that was the eighth time he's called you in the last few days. And that you never called him back. Or texted. Or anything." She didn't want to play the role of patronizing mother here, and, to be honest, Cas was always her friend before Michael, but that didn't change the fact that she'd had to deal with the freaked out boyfriend of her best friend the night before.

"He worries…" was all Cas could come up with, those abruptly heavy blue eyes dropping to the floor.

"Yeah, well, no offense Cas, but he kind of has the right to be," she shrugged somewhat awkwardly. "You haven't been communicating with him, for one, and, for two, you are… sleeping with someone else…" She couldn't bring herself to say cheating, whether it was true or not. Mostly because she knew that Cas never meant to hurt anyone, ever, and that such a word just seemed too… harsh. She knew it was her personal feelings that were leading her to see the situation that way, but she couldn't help it.

"I'm fully aware of the situation Anna," Cas replied shortly, the fact that his transgressions were being brought to the forefront not boding well.

"Yeah, well," Anna crossed her arms over her chest, unappreciative of his attitude. "You're not the one who was consoling him for half an hour because he thought something had happened to you. And then when I made perfectly clear that you were fine, I had to feed him a ton of lies to excuse you. So maybe instead of simply being 'aware' of the situation, you should do something about it."

"What am I supposed to do?" Cas asked shortly. He hadn't wanted to talk about this. At all. It was easier to ignore the problem, which wasn't wise, but was easier. At the moment.

"That is  _not_  something I can tell you," Anna replied, honestly not wanting to get involved. Because, the whole cheating thing being only one variable, Cas had dug himself into a pretty deep hole. A pit, even. "But you should probably think it over…"

"Please, be more helpful," Cas stated sarcastically, his mood dropping by the moment.

"Hey," Anna pointed at him accusingly. "You got yourself into this," she tried to remain calm. "You're the one that's cheating," yes, she finally said it, and Cas flinched away. "You're the one ignoring Michael. You're the one sleeping with someone who lives in an entirely different  _state_  than you. Does Dean even know about Michael? I wonder how he'd react if he did."

Yes, her irritation was getting the better of her.

"You think I haven't considered any of that?" Cas hissed, angry, which wasn't an emotion either of his friends saw from him very often. "I have, and I don't need you to explain it to me."

"Then what are you going to do?" Anna asked strictly, eyebrows rising questioningly.

And Cas replied, simply, with "None of your business" before abruptly rising to his feet. He turned, as if to head for the door, and Anna's voice made him stop.

"You can't ignore this Cas," she issued shortly. "It won't end well if you do." He picked up his pace once more, finally reaching the door, pulling it open, and exiting.

"Don't say I didn't warn you…" she muttered, annoyed, and Balthazar sighed from the other side of the room. Despite their exasperated expressions however, their words stemmed from concern. Because Cas was their best friend and neither of them wanted to see him hurt.

Or hurt others.

**oOo**

"You know," Naomi sat back in her seat, presents and wrapping paper spread out before her on the dining table. None of which that were going to anyone in the room. "I don't think I've seen Castiel so… cheerful since…" she furrowed her brows. "Since he was a child, come to think of it."

"He was plenty happy in high school," Samandriel lied, his tone unconvincing to everyone except Naomi, who stared at her son with a frown. Cas was sitting on the other side of the house, atop the windowsill in the living room. He was punching the keys on his phone, presumably texting, with a slight smile on his face. Occasionally it would widen, when he was reading something, before he'd begin to type his reply.

"Hmmm," was all Naomi responded with, her eyes thoughtful before she leaned forward again and grabbed another of her numerous gifts. Anna was sitting beside her, sipping hot chocolate, and Samandriel was handing her tape when she needed it. Balthazar was passed out on the couch.

The house was silent for the following twenty minutes.

Cas was the next to break it. Rising from his seat, he muttered something about going up to his room before retreating that way. He only glanced to his mother, refusing to look Anna or Samandriel in the eye. Which wasn't that surprising. Things between him and Anna had been tense, Samandriel only feeding awkward confusion to the situation.

Balthazar just avoided the whole thing.

And so the silence continued even with Cas gone. Anna knew she'd sound irritated if she spoke, Samandriel was afraid to, and Naomi was too busy contemplating her son to care much. Things would probably be livelier if Chuck were there, but he was out with his own parents that night. Some of them did have "lives," after all.

And so, again, the silence continued.

Eventually,  _something_  had to happen however.

A knock echoed around the house.

Eyebrows furrowed, Naomi rose to her feet, younger gazes trailing her as she went to the kitchen before vanishing into the entranceway. They heard her speaking to someone, happily perhaps, before two sets of footsteps came back around the corner. Naomi was smiling to herself; Dean Winchester trailed behind with a charming grin. Upon seeing all of Cas's friends, he saluted nonchalantly. A few of them nodded, but the tension in the room didn't get entirely by him. Eyebrows furrowed, he glanced around for Cas, his search cut short when Naomi began speaking to him again.

"And of course," she was probably continuing on from their previous conversation at the door, "Jim and I would be most happy to see both you and Samual, if he's here by then, on Sunday."

"I'll keep it in mind Mrs. Novak," Dean tapped his temple, as if committing the date to memory.

"When does Samuel get here?"

"Tonight, actually," Dean verified, seeing as it was Friday. "Late though." Not till sometime around midnight or eleven. "Where's Cas?" He interjected the question that was really plaguing him, seeing as he hadn't been able to spot the other man anywhere.

"He went upstairs a little while ago," Naomi verified. "To his room I think." She had furrowed her eyebrows some, as if considering her son's reasons for doing so (because it was kind of rude to simply leave his friends downstairs with her). Of course, she was unaware of the tense attitude that had sprung up between a few of them and her beloved son. "I'll go get him."

"I'll go!" Dean volunteered a little too adamantly. "I mean, I'll go get him Mrs. Novak. No need to continue interrupting whatever it was you were doing." Anna rolled her eyes at his "smooth" recovery.

"O-okay," Mrs. Novak blinked back her surprise as Dean headed around her to the stairs, which were easily located along the back wall of the living room. "His room is the first one on the right." Dean waved his understanding back at them before taking the stairs two at a time. Once up in the hallway, he zeroed in on the correct door, which was closed. He didn't even consider knocking, instead pushing his way inside and about to announce his presence. But his voice died when he saw the mound of man curled up in the blankets atop the bed, unmoving aside from easy breathing.

The steady breathing of sleep.

Shoulders dropping, Dean walked further into the room, shutting the door behind him. Rounding the bed, he bent over Cas's sleeping figure, able to see his face surrounded in the covers at the head of the mattress. The immature, attention-seeking side of him wanted to rouse the other man, which he nearly did, but was instead caught by the way in which Cas's sleeping face held him back. He just looked so damn peaceful and, sighing to himself, Dean bent back up and folded his arms over his chest in displeasure. After all, he couldn't exactly blame the guy for wanting to take a nap. They hadn't exactly spent much time sleeping the night before. Were it not for the fact that he'd wanted to see Cas so badly (a feeling Dean wasn't quite sure what to think of), he'd probably be sleeping too.

Then again, if  _he_  couldn't sleep, why should Cas be allowed to?

Again, however, that damn peacefulness stopped him from acting and, huffing, he dragged his boot-clad feet around to the end of the bed before not too gracefully dropping himself atop the end of the mattress. Cas didn't stir however, Dean wondering how long his apparent compassion would actually last. Rather like a child, he bounced a few times on the mattress, shaking it, but still was rewarded with nothing. Clicking his tongue, he began swinging his legs into the metal base, a clinging sound echoing around the room. That was, until his heel hit something else. Something large that promptly slid further under the bed.

Glancing down between his legs, he saw the corner of something large and black sticking out. Bending over, he grabbed it before pulling it a little further out, his eyes eventually recognizing the long edge as the side of a black portfolio.

Someone had mentioned something about Cas's portfolio earlier in the week, if he remembered correctly. Glancing up, he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, but soon shrugged off any defenses he might have had. Getting off the bed, he easily bent down and pulled the large, cloth case out from under the bed. No shame in the noise he made, he sat his butt back on the bed before yanking it up and unzipping it.

However, upon seeing the pieces inside, he decided that perhaps a certain level of care was probably necessary. So, fingers as delicate as he could make them, he pulled out the first canvas, which was layered on the front side by a few sheets of thin paper so as to protect it from the outside. Peeling that way, Dean found himself blinking down at an image of Anna. No, not an image, but a carefully executed oil painting.

Were he to be totally honest, Dean would have to admit that he'd never taken much interest in art. Didn't look at it regularly, knew next to nothing about it. The only "art" he looked at regularly were Busty Asian Beauties, but he wasn't sure that counted. Which was why he was left in a state of shock at the level of skill that was even possible to create such a piece. When he was dealing with paint, he could hardly get it to stick to whatever wall he was working with. But this… he hadn't even realized it was possible to utilize paint to the capacity that apparently Cas could.

Talk about artful hands (only how impressed he was stopped him from laughing at his own joke).

Propping the painting up on his thigh, he found his free hand reaching out to touch it, but stopped in abrupt questioning. Whenever he'd been on fieldtrips to art museums (rather, the only museum in Burr), he'd always been told not to touch anything. Maybe there was a reason for that.

Thus, he was left with only the ability to stare. To take in Anna's angelic form printed onto the canvas. It looked just like her, down to the last strand of red hair. But she was wearing some kind of layered gown, toga thing, only her upper body visible. And behind her drawn, sad eyes – stretching out into the background – were a pair of shining, white wings, silhouetted by pinking, red and white light.

Dean had a hard time looking away from it, actually.

It was only his interest in what else was inside the portfolio that spurred him to place it gently down against the bed and reach in for the next one. There were only four canvases able to fit into the bag, but Dean was determined to see every single one. Pulling out the next and, with far less hesitance this time, peeling away the protective sheets of paper, he took in the image.

This one, however, wasn't someone he recognized. Standing at profile with a single arm outstretched toward the right side of the canvas, he was a gallant, masculine, blonde man with a sharp, attractive profile. Like in the Anna image, he was dressed in something of a layered, toga-like outfit, a double pair of wings protruding off the canvas in the other direction. He was framed by a golden, shading to brown kind of light, confidence seeming to waft off the paint itself.

Dean took in everything he could about the painting, despite not knowing who it was (if the person existed at all), before replacing the paper over it and setting it down on the ground before the previous one.

The next was unwrapped as well, Dean recognizing Balthazar in much the same kind of getup as the previous two, only his wings were a kind of bronze color, which was accented by a shadowing, blue light in the background. He had a playful look on his face however, much like the expression Dean had already seen on him numerous times. Yes, it was definitely an accurate portrayal, that much was obvious despite how little Dean actually knew of the man.

Setting that one aside as well, he went to reach for the last, intent on revealing it, and was surprised when a hand reached around his shoulder and stopped him. Cas's hand clasped his own, Dean twitching his head over his shoulder to see the very man kneeling atop the bed directly behind him, blue eyes clouded as he halted further advances on the painting.

"You're awake," Dean stated dumbly, not at all ashamed of the fact that he'd been looking through Cas's things. Shouldn't have left them so out in the open, or so he figured.

"Yes," Cas nodded, his voice oddly guarded. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd leave that last painting inside the portfolio." If he was irritated at Dean's snooping, it didn't show. Or offended, or any manner of negative responses. No, all Dean could sense was a kind of reserved guard.

"You painted these, right?" Dean asked, releasing the piece in question as Cas sat back on the bed. He was still wrapped in the covers, appearing somewhat disheveled as Dean turned to look at him (though he still held the portfolio).

"Yes," Cas nodded in verification.

"They're really fuckin' good," Dean didn't bother hiding how astounded he actually was by the level of work. "I didn't even know it was possible for someone to paint like that. I mean, unless you were some genius like that one guy who does the baby angels. You always paint people with wings?"

"No," Cas shook his head. "It's a project I've been working on lately. I brought those with me in case I decided to work on another one. For inspiration." Because it was sometimes helpful to look back on what was already finished when trying to move forward.

"How do you get them to look so real?"

"My friends sit for me," he shrugged. "And I paint what I see." At least, as far as the more human parts. He added the clothing and the wings, and the lighting, but he assumed Dean could gather that much.

"You make it sound easy," Dean turned his attention back to the remaining painting, as if to try and look at it again, but Cas interrupted his endeavors.

"Please don't look at that one," he said again, their eyes meeting once more. To be quite frank, the idea of Dean seeing what was on the final canvas turned Cas's stomach to knots. Yes, he lacked in some social awareness, but even he knew that it'd be odd for someone, whom he hadn't seen in the last ten years, to find that he'd gone out of his way to paint them to their likeness. Their current likeness. It bothered  _him_  a little, to be honest, and he wasn't sure how Dean would react.

After all, they'd only just recently come to terms with their current situation. Cas had no desire to ruin it with his… abnormalities. Dean hadn't always reacted well to them…

"Why?" Dean asked then, his brows coming together curiously.

"It's… personal…" Cas replied, his eyes falling to the side.

Dean grinned. "Don't you think we've kind of crossed the line of 'personal' at this point?" His eyes were suggestive. Assuming that was defense enough, he returned again to the painting, Cas pursing his lips in discomfort before reaching out and taking hold of Dean's arm. He was still wearing his coat, the brown, worn leather somewhat cold and slippery in Cas's grip.

"Please Dean," he begged. "Leave it alone."

Dean's good humor finally began to wane, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he took in the way Cas avoided his stare. He didn't want to be suspicious of him, but, to be quite frank, they really didn't know each other that well. And though Sammy had told him to try and trust, it was difficult. After all, what could Cas honestly have to hide in a painting? Dean knew there was all that bullshit about "art reveals the true soul," but it wasn't as though he was going to somehow read all of Cas's deepest, darkest secrets from a painting.

"What is it of?" Dean asked then, unsure if he really wanted to weasel his way into this one or just drop it. He had the feeling, however, that if he just let it go, there'd be a serious chip in his ability to trust Cas – even if it was something as small as a painting – and he didn't want that. For crying out loud, he'd let Cas do him like a woman. What else was there to hide that could trump that?

"It's nothing," Cas blatantly lied. "Please don't worry about it."

"Well you're  _making_  me worry about it," Dean replied honestly. "It's just a painting."

"Exactly, so please stop asking."

"No."

"Dean," he finally looked up at him again, those blue eyes still guarded, which only irritated Dean more. Rebelliously, he pursed his lips and turned back to the painting, Cas sighing behind him before reaching up and taking Dean's arm yet again. This time, however, Dean pulled away before looking back once more.

"What are you trying to hide?" he asked finally.

Cas glanced away. Again. "It's not… I'm not trying to…" Dean stared hard at him, his eyes on the verge of a glare. Cas knew he had trust issues and maybe Dean was going a little far, or being a little defensive and immature, about a stupid painting, but he couldn't help that it bothered him. Maybe that was the whole idea. It  _was_  just a painting, so why go to such lengths to stop him from seeing it?

"Cas…"

"I'm afraid you'll… not like it…" Cas kind of admitted.

This took Dean somewhat aback, his eyebrows scrunching together in abrupt surprise.

"Not like it?" he repeated.

"Yes…" Cas was refusing to look at him again. And Dean, his mind racing, tried to run through all the things it could possibly be that would honestly offend him. However, he couldn't bring himself to imagine that Cas could have been capable of painting anything able to reach such a level. After all, he wasn't offended by much.

"I don't think you have to worry about that…" Dean replied slowly. "What is it and I'll tell you."

"I…" Cas had begun to twist his fingers apprehensively. "It's not so much  _what_  it is as…"

"Cas, just tell me," Dean flat out demanded.

"You're not going to like it."

"Why?"

"Because it… it's of…" Cas took a deep breath, as if gathering himself the courage to finally say it. "It's of you…"

"Me?" Dean balked in surprise. "Seriously?" He turned back to the painting. "Well now I have to see." He couldn't understand why Cas would think he wouldn't like a painting of himself. After all, he was adorable. Unless, of course, he was naked or something. But… well, he'd be great with that too actually. Frame it and put it above his bed, haha! "Don't know how you did it though," Dean was thoughtful. "I never 'sat for you,' or whatever." And the time they'd spent together, well, Cas certainly hadn't been painting, that was for sure.

"I know," Cas admitted then. "I…" Great, now he had to be honest. "I painted it before I came… to Burr."

This took Dean as second to consider.

"So…" he furrowed his brows. "You painted this… while you were in Chicago?" Cas nodded. "Alright…" So, maybe that was a little weird, actually. "Do you paint me often?"

"No," Cas shook his head quickly. "It… I don't… I don't know why I did it… or how…"

"'How?'" Dean didn't quite understand. However, now that he'd finally gotten something out of Cas, he decided he'd try and look at the painting again. And when he reached into the portfolio this time, he wasn't stopped. Taking it out, he quickly pulled away the paper, more excited to see it than he'd really realized.

What he got, however, hadn't been what he'd expected. It wasn't like the others, with the wings and fancy clothes. And bright lighting. No, it was dark, the edges black. And appearing as if from the shadows, was, well, him.

But it… it wasn't right. Not in the sense that there was something wrong with the painting itself. No, in fact, the "wrongness" of it seemed to stem from the fact that it was  _too_  right.

The two of them were silent for a few moments as Dean took it in. His face, which was aged beyond what Cas would have remembered of him, and his hair, which was cut as it was then, not how it'd been in high school. Even the shoulder of his jacket, which was the only part of his attire that was visible in the darkness of the frame, was, actually, the same leather jacket he was wearing at that very moment. A jacket he'd bought well after graduating.

However, what disturbed him the most was, rather, the look on his face. In the painting that was. His expression was… sad. Deeper, maybe, than what he usually allowed himself to show to other people; and it honestly made him extremely uncomfortable. The fact that he wasn't looking into a mirror and seeing that look, but that someone else had created it.

Had seen it.

Slowly, still unsure what to think, he looked back to Cas. Unfortunately, he now found himself even more suspicious than he had been before.

"Have you…" he narrowed his gaze once more. "Have you been watching me?"

The exact kind of reaction that Cas had been dreading.

"No," he defended quickly, finally flicking those blue eyes back up to Dean's, though this time the guarded look was reversed. "Like I said, I don't… I don't know how I did it. I hadn't thought of you at all, recently, when I'd made it. I'd been painting and I was tired and I just… it just happened. I don't… I don't even really remember painting it." Only that he knew he had.

"Right…" Dean replied darkly. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"Dean, I haven't been back in Burr since I was in high school," Cas replied a little sharply, not reacting well to Dean's accusation. "Ask my friends, or my parents." Or his boss. "Monday was the first time I'd seen you since…" Since they'd graduated.

"You have someone else watching me?" Taking pictures of him? After all, Cas could probably afford to have someone do that.

"No!" Cas defended, somewhat angry that Dean would even fathom he'd do something like that. "I've spent the last ten years trying  _not_  to think about you. I wouldn't go out of my way to make that impossible." Waking up that morning and seeing his own brush strokes and style on that painting had been painful enough.

"Well, you had to of been doin' something," Dean reasoned with raised eyebrows. "Because this whole thing is kinda creepin' me out. So why don't you just tell me the truth?" And if it sounded reasonable, perhaps he could try and forget about this whole thing.

"What part of 'I don't know how it happened' don't you understand?" Cas asked as he stood abruptly from the bed. He was obviously distraught, his blue eyes piercing into Dean's. "I haven't wanted anything to do with you for the last ten years. I never wanted to see you again. I wasn't about to go out of my way to… stalk you." Which was, apparently, what Dean though he'd been doing.

"Well damn, you don't have to say it like that," Dean replied, offended, and Cas sighed, as if helpless to say anything right as his eyes twitched to the wall. "I know I said some pretty shitty things, but I hadn't realized you'd hated me."

"I never hated you Dean," Cas reasoned tightly. "Don't you get that? I was  _in love_  with you," he took a deep breath, "and you rejected me. Of course I was going to… want to be away from you." Not want anything to do with him. "I did that painting a few weeks ago and it surprised me just as much as you." And looking at it, seeing it when he'd woken up, had been one of the most agonizing moments in his life. Because, as he'd come to realize lately, he'd never  _stopped_  loving Dean. He'd just… pushed him aside.

Which was why this whole thing between them… scared him so much.

"Okay!" Dean placed the painting aside, not wanting to look at it anymore. "Calm down, alright?" Because Cas was getting more and more upset by the second, Dean could see that as he paced shortly along one side of the room.

"I know…" he paused, his gaze falling to the floor as he spoke. "I know you think I'm strange and awkward. And I-"

"Cas, I believe you," Dean had risen to his feet, coming over to stand in front of him. Yet those eyes didn't meet his own. "And I don't think you're strange. At least, not any stranger than I am. And, well, you are awkward, so there's no thinking to that." He thought maybe Cas's lips had wanted to pull up into an amused smile. "If you say you don't know how it happened, then… then I guess that makes two of us."

"I assume that… that after deciding to come here for Christmas, I started thinking about the past," Cas tried to explain. "And maybe, somewhere in the back of mind, I… thought of you." Which had resulted in the painting. Granted, the jacket and the aged appearance, and the hair, was a little odd, but what else was he supposed to think?

Back in high school, he'd convinced himself that he and Dean had shared a special connection, some kind of profound bond, but he'd long since decided that was utterly ridiculous. Yet… there was the painting.

But had Dean ever felt the same way?

"Can I ask you something?" Cas started after a moment, finally glancing up to see that Dean was standing rather close, their noses within a foot of one another. For the first time since they'd started… whatever it was they were doing, Cas took a step back, more interested in the actual inner-workings of Dean Winchester than the physical attraction (not to say he wasn't interested in the latter).

"Uh, sure," Dean replied as Cas backed away from him, trying not to be turned off by it. Going back to the bed, Cas sat down on the edge of it, Dean deciding to follow shortly after. Supposing Cas wanted some space (for whatever reason), he placed himself with friendly space between them, not intimate. "Shoot."

"When we were in high school," Cas started. "You were a bully."

"Wow, thanks," Dean looked to the side.

"You beat up on other students," Cas continued on straight, not seeing the point in avoiding the truth of the matter. "But you never hurt me. Not once. Why?" Because Raphael had beat him up enough times, and Dean had watched it happen. Yet he'd never gotten involved (be that in a good or bad way).

"Cas," Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know I should have done something to stop-"

"I'm not asking why you didn't stop it," Cas corrected, his eyes drawn to the window. "I'm asking why you never laid a hand on me." Because he'd physically bullied his fair share of people. Not as many as Raphael, but seeing as Cas had always been the lowest of all, he should have been a main target. For everyone.

"I dunno Cas," Dean huffed, honestly not wanting to talk about it. He wasn't proud of how he'd acted during high school, and maybe that was reason enough for him to face the music. That didn't, however, make it any easier. "I guess I figured you got beat up enough. Do we really have to talk about this?"

Cas didn't respond, instead allowing his eyes to fall to the floor. Again. And Dean sighed, able to see the way his expression had fogged over into one of quiet deliberation.

"I guess I just… didn't want to hurt you," Dean admitted, trying to figure it out himself. He's never given it any great length of thought. "You were always such a skinny, wimpy looking kid."

"It was because I was weak?"

"No, I just…" Dean sighed. "I don't know Cas. Beating on you just wasn't something I ever wanted to do."

"Why?" Cas looked up at him.

"I don't know!" Dean said a little too loudly. "Dammit Cas, if you can use the excuse of not knowing why, then I can too." He turned away, once again bothered. It wasn't pleasant, after all, remembering the way Cas had gotten picked on, humiliated, assaulted. If he could go back and do it again, he wouldn't have been such a jerk. He wouldn't have let Cas go home bloody and bruised and probably having to explain to his family.

Had they ever questioned him about it? About who did it? Abruptly, Dean was ashamed of how friendly he'd been with Mrs. Novak. Her son had been tortured all through high school and he'd just watched it happen.

It was disgusting, really.

"I suppose you're right," Cas quietly agreed, though his thoughts echoed with the fact that both of them were unable to justify their behavior concerning one another. The misunderstanding was linked in that, though Cas wasn't sure what to think of it. If there was anything to think.

No, he'd rather not. Considering the notion, that he and Dean had some… inherent connection – it was too painful. Too risky. He wasn't going to go there again.

"I wish you'd quit bringing up high school," Dean said then. "It wasn't exactly a shining moment in my past." Well, there were  _no_  shining moments in his past, were he being totally honest, which only made him feel worse.

"I'm sorry," Cas replied. "That's all I know of you."

"What a compliment."

"It is," Cas finally glanced over at him again. "I was in love with you." Because, at least as far as he was concerned, that should mean  _something_.

"I can't imagine why," Dean shook his head. "But if you say so." To be honest, he didn't quite understand the interest Cas had in him then either. What did he have to offer? To impress with? He was one of the biggest losers in town, yet Cas was all over him. It was flattering, he supposed, but also confusing.

"Maybe love doesn't have explanations," Cas said, wondering if perhaps such a stance could be credited to their previous, unanswerable questions. But if that were the case, then that would mean Dean would have had to have felt something for him too.

"Do you still?" Dean asked abruptly, turning to him again as Cas furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. "Do you still love me?" The question just kind of popped out, Cas turning back to the window with a deep breath as he considered Dean's rather, well, loaded inquiry.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's been ten years. Even if I did, what would that mean?" He hardly knew Dean anymore. Didn't someone have to know another to love them? That was what he'd told himself since, hadn't it been? He and Michael knew each other inside and out, didn't they? And he loved Michael?

Well… apparently not as much as he should. He was sleeping with Dean, wasn't he? Cheating. And he didn't regret it at all. In fact, he kind of wished that… that Michael wasn't even involved anymore. So did that mean he really, truly did love Dean still? That he'd never stopped?

Had he been settling for Michael?

He didn't know anymore…

Then again, how well had he really known Dean in high school? Had that justified love? Yet, looking back, he was quite positive he'd been in love with him. There was no other way to describe it, what he'd felt. And the agony that had plagued him afterward. Something that big, that scarring, it couldn't have been anything else. But why? Why had he loved Dean?

He'd never really asked himself before. Did love have reason?

"This is all so confusing," he admitted quietly. "What about you?" He addressed Dean again. "Did you ever feel anything for me?" Maybe that was the better question to ask. Not why he hadn't bullied him, the negative, but whether there'd been something positive.

Dean didn't answer right away, contemplating the question as his eyes searched the sheets of the bed. He didn't remember feeling much of anything in high school. He'd been too caught up in trying to be something he wasn't. But, when Cas had admitted to him before graduation, it'd haunted him… forever – since then. Cas hadn't been someone he'd thought about all the time, but he had entered his head on numerous occasions over the years. Perhaps, subconsciously, he'd been considering what might have been, what he could have had, if he hadn't been so bullheaded and concerned with his image. If he'd seen Cas without the judgment goggles he'd long since thrown away.

Because there was no denying he was attracted to Cas currently, so he'd probably liked men his whole life. He'd kind of known, hadn't he? He'd accepted it through the years, hence why he'd adapted so well. But back then, when he'd been a stupid teenager… he never would have allowed himself to entertain the idea.

"No, I didn't," he finally said. "But, maybe if I'd known better, I could have."

Cas sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore," he decided. "It was a long time ago."

"Not really," Dean laughed bitterly to himself, the two of them staring at each other again. It was then, looking at that perplexed expression, that Dean was struck. "I do remember one thing," he reached out, his fingers finding Cas's top lip and touching it softly. "I remember your lips," he admitted, Cas furrowing his eyebrows as Dean pulled his hand away again. "I dunno why, but something about your lips." He chuckled to himself. "And your eyes." When Raphael had beat up on him, he'd never been able to look at him. To see those eyes staring up. "Maybe I was attracted to you and didn't know it." He shook his head. "I sound like a lovesick schoolgirl or some shit, huh."

"No you don't," Cas assured gently, reaching out and taking Dean's hand. "I don't think so." Their fingers twined together, both of them watching. Cas's hands were skinnier than Dean's, but longer. And oddly rough, like Dean's own. Not quite so worn, but not virgin either.

"You know," Cas smiled shortly to himself. "I  _did_  used to draw you in high school."

"Really," Dean smiled to himself. "Sounds kinky."

"Not exactly," Cas assured good-humoredly.

"Nah, seriously," Dean pulled his hand away, placing both behind his head before striking a seductive pose. "Oh Castiel, won't you draw me like one of your French girls?"

Cas  _did_  grin then. "I suppose if you wanted me to. Though I've never drawn any French girls."

"It was a joke. I wasn't being serious."

Cas shrugged, the two eyeing each other momentarily. Before, finally, Dean leaned forward and captured those lips between his own (his whole purpose in coming up to get Cas in the first place). The now familiar touch rang through them both, Dean's hands reaching up to cup Cas's cheeks and neck. He allowed the heated touch to run through him, those artistic fingers soon coming up to grip at his jacket.

Abruptly, Dean was desperate. With passion, yes, but not with the fleeting, rushed fire that had plagued them both the last few days. No, this seemed to burn from somewhere deep, deep down on the pit of his stomach. It furled higher, slowly, as he continued to pull those lips between his own. It twisted his insides and pulled at his spine, leaving him breathless yet unable to back away. Their movements became clumsy, needed, but neither could bring themselves to care. Instead, chests heaving, they continued to tug back and forth, as if trying to wrench free the other's insides. The very essence, perhaps, of what they were.

Falling back against the bed, Cas's head hit the sheets softly, Dean pulling himself up over him and unwilling to let go. Hand traveling down from Cas's neck to his chest – to his shirt – he grabbed at the fabric, suddenly afraid that if he wasn't holding on, everything beneath him would crumble away and disappear. It'd all be gone and he'd be alone again. Lost again, maybe. If he was truly found at all.

And as those fingers shifted into his hair, he relished the touch – the heated marks those little tugs left against his scalp. He was pulled as close as possible, as if Cas wanted no space at all between them, and Dean did his best to oblige. To wrap his arms around that now familiar body and squeeze all the possible air there could be between them away.

Until all that was left was something raw and honest, and more real than Dean had felt in a long time. Better than his constant days backhanded into a life where he felt no control. Over and over again he'd pushed that existence, perhaps wanting himself as little as he'd been wanted by anyone else. But the sensation of Cas's form beneath his, dragging him in, raised him up. Maybe he was using Cas as an excuse to feel that way; maybe that was the whole point. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't want it to end.

He didn't want to give up.

And it wasn't until there was literally no more breath between them that they were forced to part. Lips hovering together, touching lightly, Dean opened his eyes, catching that blue staring back up at him. Reaching again, his hand found Cas's face, holding it despite how he was trembling. His whole form seemed to be shaking, quite out of his control, and it was only Cas's eyes that kept him grounded. And those hands, which wrapped tightly around his neck and held him still.

Held him safe.

Held him at all.

He didn't know where it came from, the abrupt flooding of… something he didn't understand. But it welled up within him so suddenly that there was no quelling it. No stopping it. An assault he couldn't ward off, he found himself looking away from Cas, if only to try and hide it, an endeavor that was already failing. Like the rest of him, his chin shook, his whole throat running dry as the little water within him seemed to leak down across his cheeks.

He didn't know where it came from, or why, but he had no control. Moving his forehead until it was against the sheets, beside Cas, he let it take him, unable to do anything else.

Helpless.

And Cas, who was uncertain as to what it all meant, did the only thing he knew he could. He held him tighter, trying to stop the shaking with his own strength. He gripped at his neck and back, and wrapped him up as much as he humanly could.

"It's alright," he murmured softly, his muscles straining with the force he used to hold him. "It's alright Dean," he continued. "It's alright."

But it wasn't. It hadn't been alright in a long, long time, and Dean only seemed to grow worse, Cas's own agony at witnessing it tightening his chest until he thought it might break. Because the quiet sobs seemed to come from somewhere Cas didn't comprehend and, maybe, couldn't. Experience, perahps, that he didn't have. And a different kind of loneliness. One of bleak, stark walls and flickering lights. As if all the life had been sucked out of the world, maybe.

A wind that came down over the hills and blew past as if in a hurry to move on without stopping. Without a second thought.

"I'm here Dean," he assured, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm right here with you."

He didn't have to be alone anymore.


	11. The Truth Becomes

"Cas?" Anna's voice was outside his door. She didn't sound exceptionally pleased, he noted, but that hadn't exactly been an odd occurrence that particular day. "And Dean?" She didn't come in, Cas still laid out flat on the bed holding Dean, listening. "You two have been in there for about an hour. And, well, Naomi's wondering what you're doing." Was she speaking through gritted teeth? "And you're lucky I came up here to find out first."

Because, obviously, they had to be doing something inappropriate.

"We're not doing anything," Cas answered honestly. "We'll be down… soon." Because he wasn't exactly sure what to estimate concerning Dean's position. Estimates were unadvised anyway.

"Fine," was all she said before her footsteps faded down the hall.

As if abruptly stirred however, Dean sat up, separating himself from Cas rather shortly. Blinking somewhat in surprise, Cas leaned up as well, staring at Dean's back as the other man went forward, elbows propped up on his knees. He didn't say anything initially, Cas watching in some confusion for a few moments. Mostly because he wasn't sure how he was supposed to be reacting. Or, rather, how Dean wanted him  _to_  react.

However, shaking his head – as though to toss off what had just happened – Dean stood and paced to the small mirror hanging on the wall. There, Cas watched as he stretched the skin beneath his eyes and wiped away the salt remnants. As if that would somehow rid him of the evidence.

Cas pursed his lips.

"Dean…" he said his name quietly.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he replied gruffly. "Let's just go back downstairs, alright?" He turned to face Cas, though his eyes were more preoccupied with the carpet.

And Cas, who didn't want to push Dean farther than he was ready to go, nodded and stood as well. However, he did manage to find a few words as they headed for the door. "Dean," he repeated, "if you do need to talk to someone, I know I'm not well-versed in… such things, but I will listen."

"I know Cas," he replied, voice still gruff as he pulled open the door. "I know." He stepped out into the hall. Taking a deep breath, Cas followed, trailing somewhat at a distance as they made their way downstairs. Upon entering the dining room, they saw that the wrapping paper had been cleared away to make room for setting the table, which Samandriel was doing quite well. The others stood around too, glancing at the two as they entered. If anyone noticed the swollen redness to Dean's expression, they didn't mention it.

"Oh good," Naomi smiled as her son entered, Dean saying nothing as he sat down at the table and stared, preoccupied, at the Christmas cloth laid over it. "Dinner is just ready," she assured as she came up and straightened Cas's collar. Her actions took her son somewhat aback, uncertain what to make of such abrupt contact. In his experience, his mother only handled him so when she was worried, which caused him to furrow his brows in questioning. She didn't acknowledge him however, instead taking a deep breath before, satisfied with her work, turning and walking toward Dean.

Cas stared after her, bewildered, and many of his friends, upon seeing his expression, echoed much the same.

"I hope you like ham sandwiches Dean," she said as she bent over next to him, Dean glancing up with raised eyebrows. He was clearly discomforted at how close Mrs. Novak was, seeing as he was trying to hide the evidence on his face and all.

"Anything you've made I'm sure will be… fantastic," Dean replied with half a grin, nodding to Naomi and hoping she'd go away. She continued to stare at him for a moment longer however, making the room quite uncomfortable, before finally huffing and marching her way back to the kitchen.

"Your father is going to be late," she continued, obviously addressing Cas, who had finally made his way into the dining room and placed himself in the chair beside Dean, who didn't look up at him. "He just called, which is really too bad because I made his favorite apple pie."

"Pie?" Dean did look up then, as if his preoccupied depression simply slipped away.

"Yes," Naomi nodded to him.

"Aw, Mrs. Novak, if your husband can't eat it, I will. I love me some pie." He smiled fully, his typically social disposition shining through. Turning, he grinned brightly at Cas, who'd already been looking at him. "Your mom has pie," he repeated.

"Yes, so she said," Cas replied easily.

"I fricken' love pie," he reiterated, Cas cocking a single eyebrow and supposing he'd have to remember such things. To pull Dean out of his funks in the future.

Because there was a future for them, right?

"I'm so glad to see someone so animated about my cooking," Naomi smiled as she brought some ham slices and bread into the dining room and set them down on the table. Balthazar and Anna came after with everything else, the group soon sitting down all around. Taking a deep breath, Naomi prepared herself to say grace, but before a single word could leave her lips, the front door opened.

They all glanced up in surprise.

"Jim!" Naomi said as she swiftly rose from her seat, her previous words falling to falsity as the father of the house walked through door. "I hadn't been expecting you." She took her husband's snowy coat as he shucked it off, everyone at the table watching silently. "You said you were going to be late."

"I thought I was going to be," he verified, his normally smooth voice coming out a little shorter. "Things didn't work out as planned."

Glancing around, those at the table cast each other inquiring looks, but none, even Cas, could fathom what such words could possibly mean.

"What happened?" Naomi asked as Jim slowly, tiredly, made his way from the entranceway into the dining room. Taking a deep breath, his thin figure pulled out the empty chair at the head of the table and sat down. He'd limped a little on his way over, probably the result of his knee surgery and the exhaustion he was obviously feeling. Naomi, the dutiful wife that she was, had soon hung up Jim's coat before coming from the kitchen with another plate. Standing beside her husband, she began to fix him his meal (which she hadn't done for anyone else) while he closed his eyes and seemed to gather his nerves. Everyone else waited in bated breath.

"I wish it was within my rights to say I managed some good today," he shook his head, "but I fear we've lost a young soul." He sounded almost as though someone had died, those who were unaccustomed to his behavior even more on edge. "I wish the word, for the sake of the young man's family, could be kept confidential, but it would be unwise to keep such dangerous an influence out of the knowledge of others." He shook his head. "It is an unfortunate shame indeed."

"Jim, tell us," Naomi asked, done with her husband's dinner and staring down at him with the utmost concern.

"We tried to bring him back to the light," he twined his fingers together atop the table, "but he has willingly turned his eyes from The Lord." Naomi seemed quite aghast at this, those listening unsure whether they should be as well. "The lifestyle he has chosen is not within God's approval." And Dean, who'd long since lost true faith in religion, almost asked how Mr. Novak could possibly speak for God, but held his tongue, knowing that such a comment would likely get him kicked out of the house and shunned by the entirety of Burr. Which would, ultimately, be bad for business – Bobby's business.

"You couldn't sway him back from… from sin?" Naomi asked quietly.

"Mr. and Mrs. Smith brought him in with them tonight, to hope we could persuade him, but he refused. He would rather choose the sin of homosexuality than remain in God's good favor." And Cas, finally understanding what this was about, turned his head forward abruptly, the color draining from his face. "Raymond Smith had always been a generous, well-meaning young man. I don't understand why he would choose to turn his back to his faith."

"Well perhaps he… perhaps he's unhappy about something else," Naomi offered, only a few at the table noticing how her voice shook a little. "Certainly there must be another-"

"We spoke all through the hour, but he insisted he didn't choose to be this way. He cannot face the truth or the sin he is willingly committing. He will live soiled for the rest of his life and be damned to the worst afterwards. Unless he can repent and return to the light."

"What… what do Mr. and Mrs. Smith… plan to do?" Naomi asked quietly, her eyes falling to the floor as her hands fidgeted together in her lap.

"There may still be time," Jim argued. "Raymond is only sixteen and could still stand a chance. I know of some facilities in Florida that… that may be able to help him."

"But those places are terrible!" Anna couldn't hold herself back anymore.

"They are God's will," Jim replied evenly, his piercing eyes looking directly at Anna and, oddly enough, able to pin her back. "If there are horrors within them, they are caused only by the sinners who refuse to see the truth of their actions." And Anna, who had to use all her self-control not to look at Cas, instead deterred her eyes to the tabletop.

Dean, on the other hand, wasn't exactly sure what to do. Part of him wanted to jump in and… say something, anything. Because he could sense the stiff, tension-filled hurt in the man beside him. Because his father hated what he was and wasn't even able to fathom that his own son, the offspring of one so holy as him, could choose a "sinner's lifestyle." His words did more damage than he knew, and Dean closed his hands into fists atop the table in order to retain his self-control.

"They… they must have some other options first," Naomi persisted, apparently quite the optimist. "Certainly if Raymond does… feel this way, it has been the result of persuasion or… or confusion. Certainly he didn't choose to be… to be…" She couldn't even say it, her voice shaking.

"The devil's persuasion," Jim countered. "However, he could seek God if he chose and be free of it, but he'd rather wallow in the filth of sin than seek the healing light of The Lord."

Oh, this was getting more and more difficult for Dean.

"He is young Jim," was Naomi arguing with him? "Certainly we mustn't jump to conclusions. There… there must be another way to look at this…"

"There is no other way but God's way," Jim looked directly at his wife. "You know that."

She didn't say anything, her eyes dropping away.

"I am tired," Jim said after an awkward silence. "I think I'll retire." With little in the way of a farewell, he rose again from his seat before turning and retreating to the stairs. The room was silent after him, everyone able to clearly hear the door upstairs as it clicked closed.

His meal was left atop the table to the cold.

For moments, however, the silence stretched, Naomi still staring down at the tiles while Cas, pale and breathing tightly, focused across the room into the kitchen. It was as though, between the two of them, some kind of fragile string was attached and if one moved before it was secured, it'd snap.

Dean met everyone else's eyes just as well as they'd met his, but his voice was gone.

The quiet hung.

Until, finally, as if having gathered herself, Naomi stood rather violently and grabbed up her husband's plate. Taking it to the kitchen, the sound of her knife shoving the untouched food into the trash was like nails to a chalkboard. It caused Cas to flinch rather forcefully, his breath finally becoming shaky as his eyes searched the kitchen – his mother – in confusion.

Confusion over his own situation, his father, and perhaps her reaction just then. For the first time in his life, he wanted to see his mother's eyes. See what resided there. Because the tension in the room was thick enough to swim through and it was within her that the answers laid. That was clear in that moment. Yet she was busy unnecessarily scraping food from what was probably a clean plate at that point.

And Cas, whose chest felt as though it was about to burst, tried to deal as best he could.

But it was hard. It was  _so hard_.

Gut tight, his mouth fell open, Dean reaching out to try and comfort him somehow, but even a light tug on his shirtsleeve did nothing. No reaction. Instead, dry and cracked, Cas finally found his voice.

He found one word.

"Mom," he croaked out suddenly, Naomi's scraping coming to a screeching halt as she jumped, startled, and dropped the knife. It fell to the floor with a clattering crack, everyone in the room except for Cas wincing as though in pain.

At first she did nothing, standing in view of the kitchen with her back to them. They could see her shoulders moving as she breathed – as if considering what she should do. Whether she should face her son or simply ignore him perhaps. Her intentions, however, would remain unknown to them. Because as she turned, whether to say something or retrieve the knife to continue on as though it were nothing, she caught those heavy, confused, desperate eyes. Eyes that she'd watched grow and mature, and that now ensnared her. Because, whether she'd wanted to face it or ignore it, the answers were spelled out in her look as she turned to her son. As she stared back – that same blue she saw in the mirror everyday; part of her.

Yet, overcome by grief, she had to look away. She  _had_  to. Because it was too hard and she didn't know how to face it. Her expression contorted in agony, her actions coming to a stop as her eyes closed. As she shut her son away.

Breathing short, choppy, Cas begged her to look at him again, to see him, but she refused and, unable to take it anymore, he stood. So abruptly, in fact, that the chair he'd been sitting in crashed to the ground behind him.

Because it was too painful to sit there and be rejected.

It was too hard to realize that she…

That she knew.

She  _knew_.

Gulping, Cas whisked himself swiftly from the table, his hastened steps carrying him to the door.

Dean reacted as quickly as his nerves allowed, "Cas!" he shouted, stumbling from his own seat. " **Cas**!" he said again, stretching after him and into the entranceway. The door was already tossed open however, Dean trailing his footsteps out into the snow. The chill of the evening smacked him across the face, jolting him into awareness, but it only took seconds for his muscles to sober as he hastened down the steps and out into the yard. Thankful he'd never had the chance to remove his boots, he sprinted after Cas, who'd taken to the street at a much faster pace than he'd expected.

Behind him, he could hear the jogging steps of Balthazar, Samandriel, and Anna, they too having gone after their friend. And it wasn't until they'd run at least a mile that Cas finally seemed to feel fatigued, Dean huffing as he pushed through the cold after him.

Having slowed, Cas was walking now, intent on…somewhere. Dean, however, was more concerned with the fact that he was running around in the snow-littered streets without any shoes on. Just black socks. He'd freeze his toes off if he didn't come inside soon.

"Cas!" Dean shouted again, finally able to catch up with him. Upon hearing his name, Cas stopped, his breathing even as Dean came up beside him. Rounding him, Dean bent down and heaved heavily, his hands on his knees. After a few seconds, he threw himself up straight again, taking in Cas's vacant expression as his other three friends came up behind them, equally as winded. Cas, however, though he was breathing a little harder than usual, didn't appear half so deteriorated. At least, not in comparison to the rest of them.

"Dammit Cas," Dean breathed. "Slow down."

"She knows," he said, clearly in some sort of shock. "She knows about me." And Dean, his thoughts a little slower than usual, tried to keep up with Cas's mindset. "How long has she known?" His head shook. "How…?"

"Easy Cas," Dean placed his hands on his shoulders, steadying him. Because his body had wavered slightly. "It's alright buddy, just relax."

Cas was shaking his head however, those blue eyes both hurt and lost.

"He's right Castiel," Samandriel came up beside them. "Think about it. Even if your mom has known that you're… well, you, she hasn't done anything against you for it, right? Maybe she's okay with it." An optimistic point of view, but one few others found easy to believe.

"What if she tells my father?" Cas was muttering. "I don't… I don't want to lose them." He'd gone to great lengths to secure his family, made up many lies. Because, truth be told, despite his parent's beliefs, he'd grown up in a good family. He'd been encouraged to be what he wanted – they'd opened many doors for him and supported him the whole way. There were things he knew they'd never accept about him, but that hadn't meant he'd wanted nothing to do with them.

They were his  _parents_.

"Cas, don't start jumping to conclusions, alright?" Dean reasoned. "If she has known for a while, or even a few days, she hasn't told your father yet." And, well, based on the conversation she'd just had with Jim, she probably wasn't going to. At least, not at the moment. If they took her knowledge into account and then what she'd said about "Raymond Smith," odds were, she was pretty confused about the whole thing too. "Just calm down."

"Yeah Cas," Anna came up on his other side. "We're all here too. So… relax, okay?" She placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

"Wow, what's going on here?" Dean recognized that voice right away, his protective instincts rushing into high gear as he dropped Cas and turned to see Raphael and a couple of his old school buddies walking up the sidewalk toward them. And because he hadn't considered how he'd act if ever caught with Cas, he was silent as the three approached.

"Raphael," Samandriel murmured quietly, clearly uneasy, and both Balthazar and Anna felt their nerves pricking in junction with Dean's. However, Raphael was a large, muscular guy, as were his "friends." They could likely do some serious damage even with the more brawny Dean present.

"Hello Raphael," Dean plastered the broadest smile he could onto his face, still standing quite well in front of Cas, who was slowly seeming to come around to the situation. "Funny meeting up with you here."

"I'll say," Raphael grinned, his expression one of the most unfriendly any of them had ever seen. "What are you up to Dean? Looks like you've got Castiel in a…" he glanced around Dean at the still rather disheveled man behind him. "In quite the state."

Dean had to hold back his offense that it would be assumed he'd been somehow tormenting Cas.

"Ah," he clicked his tongue, "I guess so. Just, uh, scared him a bit… I guess."

"I'm surprised," Raphael narrowed his eyes. "Last time I ran into him, he… put up quite the fight." He held up his hand, which had a brace on it. Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, as did the rest of Cas's friends. When had Cas gotten into a fight with Raphael? He hadn't said anything to them about it.

"Guess I took him by surprise."

"You don't need to protect me Dean," Cas interjected, Dean whipping around to see that, barefoot and all, he appeared to be back to himself. His blue eyes were a dangerous kind of threatening, and directed intently at Raphael.

"Protecting him?" Raphael asked as Dean stepped aside. Though he did it more so because Cas had reached out and pulled him out of the way by the coat, causing him to stumble a bit. "I hadn't realized you and… Castiel were so… buddy-buddy." He wasn't even bothering to hide the hostility behind formality. No, he had it out for Cas and wasn't afraid to show it.

"Yeah, well," Dean sighed, supposing there was no going back. "What can I say, dude's not half bad to hang around."

"You surprise me Dean," Raphael leveled his look at his old high school companion.

"Huh, that makes two of us," Dean admitted, his green eyes falling to the side only quickly.

"What do you want Raphael?" Cas asked.

"Calm down there Cassie," he patronized. "I didn't come out here looking for you, if that's what you think. Just happened to run into you. However," his dark eyes became thoughtful. "Now that you mention it, I wouldn't mind returning the favor I owe." He held up his hand again.

Dean bristled. "Step off Raphael," he warned – growled rather – and took a step forward. This offensive aggression seemed to take Raphael and his companions aback, who looked to Dean in utter bafflement. Because it was one thing to be found with Cas and quite another to actually turn the tables and stand up for him. Even put himself in harm's way, potentially.

"What are you doing?" Raphael asked after a moment's pause. "Are you… siding with Castiel Novak?"

"I don't take sides Raphael," Dean responded shortly. "But it's been ten years. Why don't you let it go? It's not like Cas ever actually  _did_  anything to you." He'd been Raphael's personal punching bag, that was all. "High school is over."

"You think I don't know that?" Raphael asked. "This doesn't have anything to do with high school." He looked directly as Cas then. "I know what you are," he threatened, Cas's eyes narrowing further. "I've always known."

Dean pursed his lips.

"You don't know anything about me Raphael," Cas replied evenly. "You're nothing but a bully. That's all you've ever been and that's all you'll ever be." If at all possible, his tone was deeper, Raphael clearly taking offense to his words. As he took a step forward however, Dean found himself between them once again, his arms coming up to shove Raphael back.

Stumbling some, Raphael continued to look at him in blatant surprise.

"Enough," was all Dean said.

For a few moments, the two simply stared at each other, Dean daring Raphael to make another move. And for a minute, it looked like he might, his two sidekicks ready at his sides. Yet, at the last second, his calculating gaze became unreadable, suspicious even, and he backed away.

With a single look, he beckoned to his companions, the group turning the way they'd come and walking off. It wasn't until they'd vanished around a street corner that Dean finally allowed his defenses to drop. Turning to Cas again, he saw that he was now staring down at the snow, his lips tight, expression serious.

"Wow…" Balthazar said from his position at the back. "That was… a little scary."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Raphael's a real asshole."

"I'm starting to understand why you never came back here," Anna murmured, Cas giving her no response. "This place is… dangerous."

Cas only blinked.

"C'mon," Dean took a huffing breath. "You need to get inside," he was talking to Cas. "Before your feet freeze off."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Cas asked, his tone straight. Taking his meaning, the others offered no initial solutions. Because, apparently, Cas didn't feel he could go home. At least, not at the moment.

"You'll come to my place of course," Dean replied simply. "Not like you haven't spent the night there already. Besides, it's getting late." It was probably nearing eight as it was, the sky a dark, snow-lit shadow.

"… Alright…" Cas agreed, supposing he really didn't have much of a choice. Dean's car, however, was still at the Novak's. So, since Cas didn't want to go home and Samandriel knew where his apartment was, Dean headed back alone to retrieve the Impala while the rest walked the short distance to his glorious living situation. He'd bring Samandriel back to his car later he supposed, and was thankful his keys were in his pocket as he came back up on the Novak's drive.

He really didn't want to go back inside. Especially if Naomi was still awake.

Instead, climbing into the driver's seat, he shivered against the chilled leather and went to start it up. He paused, however, upon spotting a silhouette in the window.

There, in the kitchen, her hand to her mouth as tears streamed down her face, was Naomi.

Dean, watching her for a few moments, eventually sighed before shaking his head and starting up the car. If Naomi saw him, he didn't look back to meet her gaze. Instead, backing easily out onto the road, he headed on.

Cas, after all, was who he was really worried about.

**oOo**

"You look a lot better," Dean commented as he continued with his sandwich at the kitchen counter. Cas sat on his couch, a mug of coffee in his hands. He was dressed in a pair of Dean's sweatpants and a sweatshirt, both of which were a few sizes too big for his slighter frame. His other clothes were folded up in Dean's bedroom, so as to keep them clean when he, well, decided to go home… or something. His hair was wet, because he'd used Dean's shower. Guy had been freezing when he'd finally gotten inside. The effect of walking around outside in the snow with no shoes.

"I guess…" Cas replied quietly. And Dean, finally finished with his sandwich, made his way over to the couch with his plate of food and sat down beside him. No one else was around – Anna and Balthazar had returned to Cas's due to the small size of Dean's apartment (and because he was expecting guests later). Thus, it was just the two of them.

"Here, you should eat," he offered Cas one of the sandwiches.

"I'm not hungry," he verified without so much as looking at him.

Dean sighed and set the food on the coffee table. "C'mon Cas," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?" he asked a little shortly. "My excessively religious, homophobic mother knows I'm gay. I think I have the right to be a little upset." He sipped at his coffee.

"Okay, that's… true," Dean agreed. "But, think about it Cas. It's not like you just out and told her or something. She didn't just find out, right? And she hasn't been treating you any different. Maybe she's okay with it." Though that was highly unlikely, what with the crying in the window, but Cas didn't need to know that. At least, not at the moment.

"I don't see how that could be possible," Cas replied quietly. He didn't elaborate any further however, Dean hiding how he rolled his eyes. Not that he wasn't sympathetic or anything, but this was like pulling teeth.

"Okay, you know, you're really making this difficult," Dean argued. "Here I am, trying to be the noble, understanding boyfriend and you're all… rejecting me." This did draw Cas's attention, his eyes zipping up to Dean's.

"Boyfriend?" he repeated.

Dean froze. "Well… maybe that was…" He'd been trying to be smooth and had slipped up.

"You think you're my boyfriend?" Cas asked, though there was no mocking in his tone. No, he was honest to god asking, expression totally serious.

"Well, the term's kind of subjective," Dean decided, unable to look Cas in the eye. "I mean, friends doesn't seem to quite cut it, lovers seems kinda… corny, and fuck-buddies is a little vulgar." He visibly weighed his options. "But if you have a better definition, then I'm all ears."

"No," Cas shook his head, a shadow of a smile finally finding his lips. "Boyfriend sounds… fine." Even if they had only been "together" a few days. It was all moving so fast, so rushed, but Cas was enjoying the ride. He just… he didn't want to spoil it.

Yet, there were variables to consider. Some of which even Dean was ignoring. Like the fact that Cas lived in Chicago and that his first of three weeks in Burr was nearly over. But if he was going to keep pretending, then Cas would too. If only for a little while. They'd have to face the music eventually after all. But that didn't mean they couldn't fantasize for a little while.

However, fantasy or not, reality was abruptly coming down hard on Cas. His phone, which was in the pocket of Dean's sweatshirt, rang loudly and, reaching in to grab it, Cas glanced down to see who it was.

His heart froze for a moment.

 _Michael_.

For a second, he considered ignoring him again. As he'd been doing all week. It'd be so easy to just… hit the decline button and ignore it. But Anna's scolding of him from that morning came quickly filtering back into his head and, abruptly, the guilt was so heavy that he knew he couldn't just push it away. Michael was a good guy after all and he…

He was doing the unthinkable to him.

"I should take this," he glanced back up at Dean. "It's… work." Now he was lying to Dean too? Then again, wasn't he already? What if Dean found out about Michael?

"This late?" Dean asked skeptically.

"It… must be an emergency," Cas replied as he stood. "It could be confidential though so…" he nodded his head toward Dean's bedroom. Shrugging, Dean so easily believed him and, jogging over, Cas quickly closed the door behind him before answering.

Outside, on the couch, Dean went about eating his dinner.

"Hey," Cas started somewhat unsteadily, not sure what to expect from Michael.

" _Castiel_!" he used his full name, Cas flinching away from the phone as he made his way over to the bed. Yet, as he looked down at it, he was flooded with the memories of all he and Dean had done there the night before. Turning away, he instead went to the window. " _It's about time you picked up_."

"I know, I'm sorry," Cas replied in his typical stoic manner. "It's been… hectic here." Which actually wasn't a lie.

" _That's what Anna was saying this morning,_ " he replied, his voice no longer so loud. " _Are you alright? She acted like you'd… met up with some people from high school that weren't… well, I didn't quite understand what she meant, actually._ "

"Uh, yeah, I did," Cas verified. "They've been… taking up most of my time. And my parents." Sort of true. "I kept meaning to call you back, but… I'm really sorry." He felt  _worse_  for apologizing when he wasn't actually sorry about the lie of it all. Abruptly, he considered that… that maybe he could just end it all there. Breaking up over the phone wasn't the most… tactful, but it was better than… than what he was already doing, right? And he did want to end things with Michael… didn't he?

He wasn't so sure. Because Dean was risky. He had no idea where they were headed or what they were doing actually meant. But he was also too afraid to bring it up, as if that would mean he'd have to end the affair prematurely. All of it was so surreal, so unbelievable. What were he and Dean going to do? Have a long distance relationship?

Did what they have at all… Did it even have the strength to last?

Wasn't Michael safer?

" _You kind of freaked me out for a little while,_ " Michael was saying. " _I was getting really worried_."

"I know," Cas nodded to himself. "I just… I got caught up in… some things. I don't have an excuse. I'm sorry." He did mean it then. Sort of.

Maybe.

" _What's been happening Cas?_ " Michael asked, concerned.

"It's nothing, really," Cas lied. "Just… high school stuff. Stuff I'd really rather not talk about."

" _Okay…_ "

"I'm actually really tired," Cas, knots twisting in his stomach, found that he really just wanted to end the conversation. "Can I call you tomorrow?"

" _Wait, Cas, I…_ " Michael audibly sighed. " _Okay, but only if you promise to tell me what's going on._ "

"I promise," he lied.

" _Really?_ "

"Yes Michael," Cas assured coldly.

"… _Okay_ …" he gave in. " _Get some rest, alright? You do sound tired._ "

"I will."

" _I love you_."

Cas gulped. "Me too."

The conversation ended shortly after.

Hanging up, Cas stared down at the phone for a few long, long minutes, uncertainty the only thing he was absolutely sure he felt. He knew he should talk to Dean, should bring up these glaring issues, but he just… he was too afraid. He didn't want what was between him and Dean to be over. After all, if he was going to be in Burr for three weeks, shouldn't he at least get that much out of it?

No, that was wrong. He should stop this… this thing with Dean, shouldn't he? Because they were both only going to get hurt. No matter what he did, he was hurting someone.

How had this gotten so out of control?

"Hey, you done?" Dean's voice echoed into the room, Cas turning to face the door. "I'm coming in." And so he did. Cas remained by the window, Dean raising his eyebrows questioningly as he entered.

"Just a last minute graphics issue," more lies.

"Look at you, Mr. Save-the-Day," Dean grinned. "What's it like, being all high and mighty and successful?" Cas furrowed his brows as he considered the question. "Actually, don't answer that," Dean chuckled as he sat down on his bed and started pulling off his socks. "I don't need to know."

"You could be successful too, you know," Cas caught on, for once.

"Don't even start," Dean waved him off. "You'll sound like Sammy, and that'll be a huge turnoff." And because Cas knew he wasn't in any position to lecture Dean on his life choices, he didn't press the subject. Instead, he remained standing by the window, staring at the back of Dean's head in contemplation.

"Are you gonna be like this all night?" Dean turned on him after a moment, feet finally bare. "Because you're kind of killing my good mood."

"I hadn't realized you were in a good mood," Cas replied. "Not after earlier." A reference to the crying episode in Cas's room, which really was a legitimate concern.

"Can we just… not talk about that?" Dean asked, looking away again.

"Why?"

"Because it's… I just don't want to talk about it," Dean wouldn't look at him. "I just… lost it for a minute, alright? That's all." Turning his attention to his worn over-shirt, he began to unbutton it, shucking it off while Cas decided to accept his answer before walking over to the bed. Sitting down beside him, he watched as Dean crumpled the shirt into a ball before tossing it across the room and into a pile of what Cas assumed were dirty clothes.

"You're very disorganized," he observed.

Dean cast him a critical eye. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

"No."

"You're really irritating, you know that?"

Those blue eyes twitched to him skeptically. "Sorry?"

Dean sighed before, as if the comment had only been issued in playfulness, resting his arm around Cas's shoulders. Taking comfort in the physical touch, Cas leaned a little closer to him, his hand coming to rest lightly upon Dean's thigh.

"You know," Dean was thoughtful. "I am a little sad." Cas looked up at him questioningly. "I didn't get any of your mom's pie." He frowned.

"A truly great loss," Cas nodded. "My mother's pies have won awards."

"You're not making me feel any better."

"My apologies."

Silence.

"Dean, why were you upset earlier?" Because Cas really did want to know. He was concerned, and wanted Dean to know that it was okay to tell him. To open up. Granted, Dean wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type, at least not perceptibly (or he liked to try and convince people of as much, anyway), but in Cas's limited experience recently, he'd found that it wasn't because Dean was emotionally restrained, like Cas could be. It fact, he was starting to get the idea that it was the complete opposite.

"Cas…" Dean sighed, his arm falling from around Cas's shoulders as he got up and paced to the other side of the room. "Can't you just let it go?"

"No," he stated firmly. "Dean, you were sobbing. Why?" What had brought on such a poignant display of emotion? From someone who prided themselves so excessively on the masculine image? Then again, maybe that was all it was. Image.

"Cas, it's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Cas determined, his blue eyes staring Dean down despite how his gaze was refused to be met. "Why can't you tell me? You said it yourself that we've quite successfully passed the line of personal." He knew it was hypocritical, his attitude, because of how much he was actually hiding from Dean. But that didn't mean he couldn't also feel affronted. After all,  _Dean_  wasn't being honest with  _him_. That was a problem too.

"Cas!" Dean sounded exasperated. "Will you just let it go?!"

"No." He was on his feet now. "I'm concerned about you."

"Well don't be!" Dean rebuked defensively. "You hardly know me. Do don't get up in my business thinking you have the right to be there."

Cas pursed his lips, their eyes finally meeting. Dean's words were harsh, yes, but also true. Yet, in the same instance, that didn't mean Cas wasn't hurt by them. If he was a hypocrite, then so was Dean.

Cas realized, after a moment, that he was angry.

Unable to find anything else to say, he tore his gaze away and walked swiftly out the door and back into the living area. He didn't know exactly where he was going, seeing as he didn't actually have anywhere he felt he could go, but the action somehow relieved some of his injury. Maybe he'd just… leave for a little while. Only he didn't have shoes.

Well, he was wearing Dean's clothes anyway. Might as well complete the outfit.

"Cas," Dean followed him shortly, but was granted no response. Rather, going to the door, Cas located a pair of Dean's worn brown boots and began to carelessly slip them on. Oddly enough, they were about one size too small.

"Cas, where are you going?" Dean asked, his gruff voice echoing around the apartment.

"Out."

"You're acting like a child."

"No Dean, I just don't see the point in being here if the only time you feel like being personal," he turned to face him again, his deep voice resonating even more than Dean's, "is when we're having sex." Brazen, as always.

"Cas, that's not what I meant," Dean attempted to apologize. "Jesus Christ, will you calm down?"

"I am calm Dean," he said,  _quite_  calmly. "But apparently we have very different ideas of what it means to be personal."

"It was something you said, alright?!" He finally admitted, quite loudly, Cas raising his eyebrows in surprise. "That's all." Yet, even if he was attempting to explain himself, it was going over Cas's head.

"I said something to upset you?" he asked curiously – because that was all he could figure.

"Just, no, ah," Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose, a habit Cas had noticed he possessed when stressed or uncomfortable.

"Then why?"

"You ask too many god damn questions," Dean growled, though he seemed more irritated at the situation than Cas himself, who decided to wait and see whether Dean was actually going to elaborate before he fled the apartment. "I don't know why, alright? You were just… talkin' about the past and how you… felt the way you did." He gestured toward him flippantly. "It got to me, alright?"

"Why?"

"Is that all you can say?!"

"Dean, I'm just trying to understand," Cas made sure to keep his voice even, if only so the situation didn't get out of control on both ends. "Why would what I said… affect you to the point of sobbing?" Dean seemed to flinch away at his last comment.

"I don't know Cas," he huffed. "Because… because you were going on about how you… loved me back then and I just… No one's said that to me in a long time. And never anyone not… family before." He sighed. "I couldn't help it, alright?"

"But why would that make you upset?" Cas was still trying to dig out the root of the problem, his head cocking to the side. "Should you not have been simply flattered?"

"It's not that simple Cas."

"Why not?"

"Because!" he shouted again. "People like you…" he seemed to gesture all up and down Cas's form, "don't… love people like me. Not back in high school and not… not now either." Whether that last was relevant or not.

Silently, Cas contemplated his words, still staring at him with that deeply curious, piercing look. Until, taking in the way Dean seem to shuffle some – attention turned away – he realized it was shame that had dropped down on his expression. Shame and… guilt.

Still quite curious, Cas walked silently across the room until he was standing directly before Dean. Who, finally, looked back up at him, those green eyes uncertain as they searched Cas's unmoving, deliberate stare.

"Do you believe all people to be so judgmental and shallow?" His voice was steady, far more so than Dean's when he spoke again. "You know, good people do exist. And good things do happen." Because it had to be true if someone in Cas's situation could believe it.

"Not in my experience."

"Why would you say that?" Cas still met those uncertain, probing green eyes –completely unabashed about stepping a little closer to him. "You don't think you… deserve to be loved…"

The look he got in response to that statement spelled it all out, even to Cas. Those eyes got darker, more guarded perhaps, and Dean's whole face seemed to pale a few shades. As if, perhaps, Cas's deduction was correct, and Dean was upset, angry even, that he'd had the gall to say it out loud. Because someone who felt that way, who truly harbored such feelings, never admitted it to anyone, let alone themselves. It was a subconscious truth, one that made Dean feel naked. As if no matter how many shields he threw up, they'd never be enough.

"Why would you think that?" But Cas wasn't fazed, instead allowing his hands to reach up and gently cradle Dean's face. The other man tried to pull away, but Cas wouldn't allow it, his strength keeping that sad expression in place.

"What have I done to deserve anyone?" He murmured so quietly that even Cas could barely hear him. "I've done nothing with my life, and I did terrible things to other people before I knew better. To you; to your friends. I'm nobody, Cas. I don't mean anything." Wasn't worth anything.

"You mean something to me," was the firm reply. "You've always  _meant something_  to me." He gripped him a little tighter. "And I don't care about high school anymore. I told you that. I forgive you Dean. Nothing you've done is unforgivable." He paused. "It's you that has to be able to forgive yourself."

"But I failed them Cas," he admitted quietly. "You don't know the reason that they… that they died." He looked down at the floor. "It was my fault."

"I don't believe that."

"They were coming to pick me up," Dean persisted. "When they were killed in that accident. I'd been… busted on campus with drugs and… expelled." He shook his head. "If I hadn't been so stupid, none of it would have happened. My parents would still be alive."

"Dean, you can't carry around a weight like that," Cas reasoned. "Maybe you were at fault for your behavior, but you did nothing to cause the accident your parents were in." Or so Cas had gathered. Dean hadn't even been there. "Would they not have gone to see you regularly anyway? Were they not always taking that risk when they got into a car to go anywhere? That they were on their way to get you was coincidental, not the cause." He shook his head. "You cannot keep punishing yourself for something like that.

"Dwelling on the past, Dean… it takes you nowhere." Remember the past, yes, but don't live in obligation to it. What was done was done and no amount of regret would change that. Humans had to move on and work with what they were given. To regret… to regret and wish back was to be as good as dead.

"I guess that's why I'm still here then, huh," he joked bitterly, one of his hands coming up to grip Cas's wrist. "You know, if I hadn't been such a jerk, I might have realized how smart you were sooner."

"You realize it  _now_  Dean," Cas smiled just slightly. "There's no need to wish for anymore than that."

"Easy for you to say," he sighed. "You got out of this podunk town."

"You could too Dean, if you really wanted to," Cas whispered. Leaning forward, he allowed his lips to rest gently against Dean's lower cheek, along his jaw. A comforting gesture perhaps. And Dean, seeming to breathe him in, closed his eyes and turned his nose into Cas's, still holding his wrist tight and unwilling to let go. Even if he was ashamed of it, he wanted Cas with him.

"I don't know if I'm still in love with you or not," Cas whispered, his breath breezing warmly against Dean's lips as they hovered near each other, "but… I  _will_  love you, if you let me."

That much he could guarantee.

Pressing his lips to Dean's, he tried to engrain the feeling as best he could, wanting to remember it for the rest of his life. Wherever it was that that life took him. Be that to Chicago or simply back into Dean's bedroom.

Soon, as if gusted through, they were collapsing back atop the bed sheets, Dean landing softly into the mattress as Cas came up over top of him. Still locked together, their eyes were closed as Dean's hands found the zipper to Cas's sweatshirt. Pulling it down slowly, his fingers slipped gently in past the fabric, that heated skin sending chills thrilling through his whole body.

And Cas, who was just as fully captivated, wasted little time in pulling Dean's t-shirt up over his head. Yet, despite how they'd already done this before – run through the motions – there was something different this time. Something… something both of them knew to be so. Their hands were steady, knowing, and tracing over one another not with less passion, but with more purpose.

Something greater, perhaps, than what they'd allowed themselves to explore before.

Breathing hard, their lips pulled apart as Cas leaned up. Slowly, sensually, he dragged his hands from Dean's shoulders down his toned muscles, his blue eyes following as he took in, through the dimmed light of the room, ever bit of detail he could. The way Dean's chest rose and fell, and how his torso shuddered in expectation. Tightening his thighs around Dean's middle, where he'd straddled him, Cas bent back down again, his lips finding Dean's neck before beginning to spot short, heavy kisses down his heated body.

Breathing deeply, Dean kept his eyes closed as he reached up and twined his fingers through Cas's already mussed hair. He gripped the strands, the blood swiftly rushing down between his legs as he felt Cas's fingers find the lip of his jeans before locating the button, the zipper, and beginning to slide them down.

Shimmying off of him, Dean lost hold of Cas's hair as the other backed up off the bed, pulling Dean's jeans with him. Slipping them easily from his legs, he tossed them aside. Before he could refocus back on Dean however, the other man had leaned up and, legs hanging over the end of the bed, reached out and pulled Cas closer to him. Arms wrapping around his hips, he laid his lips against that wiry stomach, kissing the skin there while his fingers became fists around the fabric of the sweats Cas was wearing. Gripping the cloth, he pulled it down some, his hands finding those firm, tight muscles behind and grabbing them securely as he nosed his way deftly down the front. Pushing the lip of those pants out of the way, his cheek grazed that aroused length as Cas's dark trail of hair lured him lower.

Initially, when they'd begun their affair a few days prior, he'd been completely clueless about giving back what Cas had been generous enough to grant him. But, for the first time, he'd realized he'd have to learn and had, as well as he'd been able at the time, paid attention to everything Cas had done. That was, when he hadn't been breathing too hard or gasping for more. Now, however, he was going repay that.

For a moment, the thought of having another dude in his mouth flitted across his mind, but it didn't turn him away from the task. Rather, wanting to prove that he wasn't totally inept, his excitement grew as he finally pulled Cas's sweats away completely, leaving him exposed and open as the article dropped to the floor.

Finding Dean's shoulders, Cas gripped them tight, his whole body shuddering as those lips – those soft, perfect lips – brushed sensually along the desire that, honestly, was stronger than any he'd felt toward anyone. Dean – it'd always been Dean. And when the chillness of the room was shut out around him, leaving him victim to that heated, wet, pulling mouth, he had to clasp Dean's shoulders tighter to stay steady. A gasp flew up through his throat, his eyes flicking to the ceiling, which was shadowed and blurred – and insignificant to the force opening and closing around him.

"D-Dean…" he murmured, his voice hardly more than a gravelly moan as his hips reacted in junction with the rhythm. His whole body seemed to spasm in response, his brain quite unable to comprehend that Dean Winchester –  _Dean Winchester_  – was pleasing him in ways that he hadn't felt from anyone else before. Maybe a lot of it had to do with how much he wanted it and not how much skill was being utilized, or just the fact that who was doing it was enough to implode his brain on its own. But, in the end, he didn't care. He savored the feeling of being between those lips, his legs beginning to grow weak as the pressure inside him increased.

Threatened to overcome him.

Before his high was finished however, Dean pulled away, Cas's whole form nearly collapsing from sheer shock. If he was sinking however, Dean caught him, pulling his knee up on the bed and lowering him down onto his thighs as those lips began to butterfly up his neck.

"Don't stop, don't stop," Cas begged even as he collapsed into Dean's lap, his hands still gripping those rounded shoulders hard enough to leave marks, his arousal rubbing against the boxers Dean had yet to remove. "Please."

"Calm down Cas," Dean breathed up at him, shoving the open sweatshirt over Cas's shoulders before tossing it away. "I know you want more than that." Because, though he'd tried and been apparently successful, Dean knew that Cas, at least in the bedroom, preferred to be the one in charge. And Dean liked it that way too. He appreciated being taken care of, and Cas was more than willing to do it. Maybe he did sport a more traditionally masculine image – maybe he liked it that way – but no one was ever going to know how he felt behind closed doors. And probably at some point he'd take Cas that way too, but, for now, he didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to lay back and let the man on top of him have his way.

So he did. Releasing Cas, he fell back again into the sheets, giving his partner a full view of his form, which was more than enough to get Cas focused again on what they both wanted done. Hands gliding up his legs, Dean felt their heated paths as they ran like fire up through him. Taking hold of the fabric still strapped around Dean's waist, Cas pulled the offensive article from his hips before throwing it aside.

Crawling back up onto the bed, he stared Dean down the whole time, those blue eyes glowing with that animalistic desire that had, once, made him excessively uncomfortable. Now, however, it went only to arouse him further, his control momentarily focused on his breathing so as to stop himself from going over the edge.

Holding Dean's legs firmly once more, Cas slowly drug his body up between them, his nose grazing the inside of those muscular thighs as he laid heated kisses along that slick, wet, sweating skin. Eyes closing, Dean gulped, his arms out at his sides and sliding along the sheets as his hips rose of their own accord to meet the approaching lips. Despite how he begged for it however, they trespassed over him and back across his abdomen, one of Cas's hands falling from his thigh to creep along his lower stomach while that mouth detoured it's way to Dean's throat. Cas's fingers brushed down between his legs lightly, teasingly, and, opening his eyes once again, Dean stared hard at Cas as those blue eyes came up to meet him, Dean daring him to keep playing games.

No matter the lovely kind of games they were.

Cas didn't heed his warning however, instead coming all the way up until their lips met together again, his hand resting only lightly just inside Dean's thigh and managing to accomplish absolutely nothing.

Dean returned the kissing for a moment, though his frustration built in junction.

"Cas," he managed to say, wanting to indulge in those lips and speak at the same time. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Cas replied coyly before leaning down and kissing Dean again.

"I get that," Dean growled, finally ignoring Cas's lips, which sidetracked to his jaw instead. "Now quit bein' a dick and do what you're supposed to do!" He glanced down his nose at Cas, who was still quite content to make out with his cheek, and noticed for the first time that he was smiling.

Dean had seen Cas happy, sure, but never actually… smiling. At least, not like that. Not with his whole face, his lips riding up and sending a jagged line through his whole expression. It wasn't, however, displeasing to the eye. Rather, it was cute in a sharp, unexpected kind of way. Because Cas's face wasn't accustomed to smiles, which made the rarity of the expression both foreign yet welcome.

And despite how he tried to fight it, Dean felt some of his nerves evening slightly.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked, his own grin slowly spreading across his face. It was a cocky expression however, Dean fully confident that whatever it was that had Cas in such high spirits most definitely had something to do with him.

"Why shouldn't I?" Cas asked playfully, nipping his way around Dean's face until he was kissing the side of his mouth. Still, however, he smiled, Dean able to register the tension across his lips as those light flutterings marred his skin.

"I guess I shouldn't have even asked," Dean countered, the both of them soon smiling like complete idiots as Dean leaned fully into the kiss again. Cas's hand stroked his inner thigh gently while the other reached out and glided through the sheets, his weight supported on his knees as he found Dean's fingers still imbedded in the cheap, cotton fabric. Hands twining together, they both felt further jolts of excitement as their palms rubbed, their lips still tense with bliss on one another. Excitement at being together, at having already been together and moving forward, even if they weren't exactly sure where. It was simple, and right, and left them both so euphoric that soon Dean was laughing, leaning up to catch Cas's lips when the other attempted to pull away. Free hand finding the back of his head, he kept Cas on level with him, the other man still smiling as their lips pressed into one another again and again.

Elated.


	12. Taking Chances

Cas didn't stir when, a few hours after the two of them had come to resting, Dean got up out of bed and left the room. He was tired, and the bed was warm and comfortable. Somewhere in the back of his mind, her heard voices, maybe even saw the slight flow of light seeping in under Dean's bedroom door. But he didn't rise to meet it, or interject himself. Rather, he registered that there was Dean and… two others? Maybe. He just couldn't bring himself to really care. Instead, nose turned into the pillows, he continued to waver somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. That was, until, eventually, Dean slid back into bed with him. Content once more, he fell fully into slumber, only waking again sometime in early morning when his bladder stirred.

Blinking, Cas slowly sat up, the sheet falling away from his chest as he peered blearily around the room. Darkness still shone in from outside, Dean's figure resting with no sign of distress beside him. Having learned over the past few nights that Dean was a particularly heavy sleeper, he didn't bother being cautious concerning his movements as he pulled his legs over the side of the bed and out from under the covers. Stretching shortly, he was soon on his feet and headed toward the door.

Cracking it open, he paused when he spotted a light shining out from under the bathroom door.

Oh right, the voices.

Closing Dean's bedroom up again, he flicked on the light, not at all surprised when Dean didn't so much as stir, before retrieving the sweatpants he'd been wearing earlier and slipping them on. Turning the lights back off, he headed out into the apartment, too sleepy to care that, as he stood outside the bathroom door waiting, whoever came out would probably be thoroughly surprised to see him.

Soon the door opened, the light cast upon him harshly as a female figure emerged.

"Oh shit!" she hissed, backing up in surprise upon seeing Cas.

"Hello," he ground out, not fazed one bit by her reaction.

Across the room, upon Dean's air mattress, another figure stirred, flipping quickly over onto his hands and knees to catch sight of the unfamiliar voice that had greeted his companion.

"H-hello," the woman said uncomfortably as the man (because Cas could see he was a man based on his silhouette) stood and hastened his way over to them. "Uh…" The woman had no idea how to respond to the strange man waiting for her to leave the bathroom.

"Uh, hi," the other man finally reached them, Cas flicking his tired gaze over to him. He was tall, very tall, and his tone was far too lively when considering how early it was. He'd grown into his figure however, or so Cas noticed. The last time he'd seen him had been ten years ago, when he'd opened the Winchesters' door and allowed Cas inside to see Dean.

"Samuel," Cas said simply, too fatigued to care much about proper introductions. Mostly his mind buzzed with the fact that he still had to use the bathroom.

"Uh, Sam," he was corrected, but gave no affirmation at having at all heard. "And you're… you're Castiel, right?"

"Cas," his turn to do the correcting.

"Cas, right," Sam nodded in the darkness. "So, ah," he turned to the woman. "Oh, this is Ruby, my girlfriend." Cas's eyes had adjusted some, allowing him to make them out a little better. The woman was shorter by a great deal than Sam, with full lips, pointed features, and long brown hair. "And Ruby, this is, uh…" He looked again to Cas. "This is my brother's…"

"Boyfriend," Cas interjected coldly.

"Boyfriend?" Sam questioned, his eyebrows rising, surprised, in the darkness. "Wow… really?"

"Dean determined so last night," Cas replied robotically, once again looking to Ruby, but only because she was standing in the doorway. "Are you done?" he addressed her directly. "I need to use the bathroom."

"Oh, right, of course," she laughed awkwardly while jumping out of the way. To Sam's side. Not even bothering to look back at them, Cas dragged his feet into the room and closed the door, the two outside left to stare, somewhat bewildered, after him.

"Your bother's gay?" Ruby asked quietly a few seconds later. "But there are Asian porn magazine stacked everywhere in that bathroom." She tried not to sound accusing.

"I think he's bisexual," Dean determined. "But, ah, the whole dating guys thing is a new development." One that, despite having initially encouraged his brother, was still taking some time for Sam to get used to. "Boyfriends, huh…?" He couldn't hide his curiosity, not after living so long watching Dean sleep around with absolutely no intention of getting serious.

Well, maybe he'd just had to meet the right person? Or something?

Unaware that they were still standing right outside the bathroom door, both Ruby and Sam flinched lightly as Cas reappeared in the doorway. He stared at them for a few seconds, reaching up and clicking the light off at the same time, before eventually tearing his eyes away and walking back toward Dean's bedroom door. Without a word, he vanished inside, Sam and Ruby still standing stupidly in the dark.

Dean hadn't moved at all during Cas's absence and, because the sweats were too big anyway, he shucked them off again before climbing back into bed. Cuddling up next to Dean, he was falling quickly to sleep once more, only waking up a few hours later when Dean did. Because, despite it being Saturday, Dean had to work. Only till three however. Eyes closed, Cas listened as he bumped around the room, swearing to himself a few times in the dark because Dean was sensitive enough to know that, unlike with him, turning on the light would likely wake Cas up. Which meant he stumbled a few times.

"You can turn on the light," Cas muttered groggily after a while, somewhat amused but, of course, not showing it. "You're making enough noise to wake me up anyway."

"Oh, sorry," Dean replied gruffly, thankful to be able to see as he flicked up the switch. Turning his head into the pillow to avoid the harsh glow, Cas slowly allowed himself to wake up fully, more inclined to do so when Dean left the room, the shower in the bathroom echoing a few minutes later.

With a great sigh, he sat up, his eyes and mouth drooping with early morning sleep as he peered around the lightened room. After a few seconds simply sitting (because Cas really wasn't a morning person), he eventually managed to pull himself into standing. Locating Dean's sweats once again, he slipped them on and thought that, perhaps, since Dean had company, he'd better put on the sweatshirt too. Finding that among the clutter (because Dean had disorganized stacks of clothes and other things spotted about), he slipped it on before trailing out into the rest of the apartment.

The sheer darkness of the winter morning kept everything to constant shadow, and would remain so for some hours yet – it was neigh six in the morning. And, because he knew Dean's apartment well enough by now, he flicked on only the light above the kitchen counter, so as not to disturb Sam and Ruby, before he began opening the cabinet he knew held cereal. Pulling a bowl and spoon from the stack of clean dishes inside the sink, he poured himself a helping before going to sit in the dark at the dining table by the window.

He was practically falling asleep as he ate.

"You're going to end up with your face in that bowl," Dean's voice warned quietly above him and Cas jolted into alertness. Glancing up, he saw Dean smiling and dressed for work, even in the dark, and pursed his lips in displeasure. "Not that I wouldn't let it happen."

Cas cast him an unenthused eye.

"So…." Dean plopped himself down at the table as well, his voice lowered so as not to wake up the two only some ten feet away. "What are you planning to do today?" Cas merely raised his eyebrows however, as if to say, without any kind of attempt, that he didn't know. "Well, you can stay here if you want – hang out with Sammy and Ruby. I don't really care," he shrugged.

Cas, however, didn't verify whether he would do so or not. Instead, he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. It was far, far too early to be thinking about such things – his home, that was. Though, he supposed, he couldn't hide from it forever. His friends were there, as was all his stuff. Maybe he should just wait and grab it while his mother was out. And what, just leave?

No. Glancing up at Dean, he realized that there was a stronger reason as to why he didn't want to cut his trip short.

Reaching out, he slid his hand across the table until it'd come over Dean's. Seeming to deflate some, Dean sighed, allowing his fingers to become twined with Cas's as he considered how best to word what he wanted to say.

"Cas, buddy," he started. "I think… I think maybe you should talk to your mom." This twitched Cas's attention directly to him, those blue eyes doubtful. "I'm serious," he persisted. "I saw her through your window when I picked up my car yesterday. She was pretty upset."

"Of course she was upset," Cas pulled his hand away rather coldly. "Her son is an abomination and a sinner."

"That's not the kind of upset that it looked like," Dean reasoned. "C'mon Cas, you can't run away from this." That earned him a glare, but he ignored it. "Give her a chance. Maybe it's not as bad as you think." That doubt had returned to his expression. "After all, you gave me a chance," he grinned cockily before winking. "And look where that got ya."

Cas pursed his lips. "That's a poor comparison."

"Just think about it," Dean lectured. "Like I said, she must have known for a little while – it's not like she found out yesterday." Which was the only defense that really had Cas just slightly hopeful. But the flipside – the potential for utter rejection – was just so much more painful. It was easier just… pretending like nothing had happened. "I have to go to work," Dean continued, "but I'll see ya later?"

"Sure," Cas nodded, far more awake now.

"Awesome," Dean grinned again as he stood. Leaning down, he grabbed Cas around the back of the neck before going in for a deep, passionate, yet short-lived kiss. Grinning again upon pulling away, he clicked his tongue in what he figured was an alluring, flirty manner before turning on his heel and heading for the door. Listening for the sound of the Impala starting up outside before driving away, Cas dropped his spoon back in the cereal bowl and contemplated what he should do.

The answers eluded him however, or, perhaps,  _he_  eluded  _them_  and, frustrated, he rose up before heading into the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Closing the door and pulling a towel out of the small closet, he began to strip down, his eyes drawn abruptly to the magazines sitting on the back and around the toilet.

" _Busty Asian Beauties_."

He knew Dean was bisexual, not gay, but, honestly, everything between them had been moving so fast that he hadn't had time to actually digest the fact. Cas had never dated someone that identified as bisexual before. He'd had his fair share of "boyfriends," but they'd all claimed "gay" and so he'd never been bothered by the prospect. Not to say he was bothered by it currently, but it did give him something else to consider about Dean. He knew full well that he was the first guy Dean had been with, but he hadn't actually asked him whether he'd ever been attracted to any other men before. After all, there weren't any  _gay_  porno mags in the bathroom.

Maybe Cas should buy him one and see how he reacted.

Not to say he doubted Dean's resolve – Cas could tell he liked things about men that women just couldn't substitute (and perhaps vice versa), but he'd be interested to understand it a bit better, if only because he'd always been attracted to men and hadn't had experience with weighing between the two. After all, as a hyper masculine guy raised in an anti-gay town, what had spurred Dean to really give Cas a chance? Other than, perhaps, physical attraction. Which could be reason enough he supposed.

Perhaps the better question to pose would be how Dean had managed to get over his homophobia. People in Burr were practically taught to hate gay people. Parents encouraged it and schools didn't have a problem with it (though these were also the kinds of education systems that secretly slipped bits of creationism into their curriculums).

Dean seemed to think that not much had happened in his life since high school, but Cas was convinced that couldn't be true. Maybe working at Bobby's and living day-to-day wasn't what Dean considered accomplished, but he'd somehow reached heights that others in Burr hadn't even fathomed. Why? How?

Cas found that he really wanted to know.

Pursing his lips, he climbed into the shower, allowing the warm water to wake him. He was left at peace, perhaps, for some fifteen minutes. Until, outside the shower, his phone began to ring. He'd set it on the sink and, sticking his head out, he reached around and grabbed it before bringing it to his ear.

Careful not to get it wet, he answered, "Hello?"

" _Hey Cas._ " It was Anna. She was calling exceedingly early however, Cas becoming moderately concerned. He remained silent though, patient in allowing her to explain. " _I was just wondering when you were planning on coming home._ " She knew perfectly well why he wasn't coming home, so he ignored her inquiry and continued to listen. " _Your mom has been…_ " she sighed. " _She's been up all night. I think she's waiting for you._ "

"Why?" Cas's voice was cold, which hid well the accusing coming forth from his voice. "I'd think she would be happy I was out of the house."

" _Cas, that's not fair,_ " Anna lectured. " _You haven't even given her a chance. You should come and talk to her. I don't think she's slept at all._ " She took a deep breath. " _And I know you're nervous about what she's going to say, but you're jumping to conclusions here. Come home and talk to her._ "

Cas remained silent, contemplating her words as his throat tightened slightly.

But what other choice did he really have? All his stuff was at his parents' house, as were his friends. He was going to have to face it all sooner or later. And both Dean and Anna had reasoned that perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He really, truly doubted that his mother would support the way he lived his life, but… but perhaps it wouldn't be as terrible as he'd always envisioned. After all, she  _did_  know. There was no turning back from that.

"Alright Anna," he agreed, hearing her sigh of relief on the other end. "I'll be home in a little while." He had to finish his shower and get dressed. And then walk home.

Ending the conversation shortly after, he placed his phone back on the sink before finishing up. Exiting soon after, he wrapped the towel around his waist before grabbing up the sweats he'd been wearing (and his phone) and heading out the door.

He hadn't anticipated seeing both Sam and Ruby standing in the kitchen, staring at him as he walked out.

The muscles in his face tightened. "Good morning," he issued as he ran his hand through his wet hair, a few droplets of water that he'd missed with the towel slinking down his bare chest.

"Hey…" Sam greeted, a cup of coffee in his hand as he leaned against the counter. Ruby's eyes had fallen downward, as if to avoid staring at Cas's revealed form. He, however, cared little about it. Supposing that there was really no further point in simply staring at the newcomers, he turned away and headed straight into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"Not much of a talker, is he?" Ruby asked, Sam chuckling in response.

"No," he shook his head.

Cas didn't hear them however, instead locating his clothes from the day before and slipping them on. Fully dressed in attire that actually fit him, he brushed his hair as best he could with his fingers before backtracking out into the apartment once again. Sam and Ruby were at the table now, eating, and Cas only looked at them shortly before going to the door where Dean's multiple pairs of boots were sitting.

Slipping on the first pair he came across, he tied them quickly and wondered how completely ridiculous he looked in a nice sweater, slacks, and combat boots. Not that anyone would be able to see him in the darkness of the morning.

"You leaving then?" Sam questioned across the room, drawing Cas's eyes.

"Yes," he affirmed with a simple nod, supposing it was within proper decorum to bid the two farewell. "Goodbye." Nodding, he turned and pulled open the door, unaware of the way Sam tried to wave farewell and fell short when it became clear he'd been ignored.

"Well, glad we got to meet  _him_ ," Ruby rolled her eyes sarcastically.

"He was always like that," Sam explained, more amused at Cas's behavior than anything. "I remember, back in high school, him and Dean were working on a science project or something, and we were all sitting at the dining room table, working. My mom walks in and offers to make them some food, you know, polite stuff. And I'm pretty sure that Cas's exact words were 'no thank you, sustenance is not required.'"

"Ha!" Ruby shook her head. "He doesn't strike me as the type your brother would go for." Because she'd known Dean a few years now, having visited him multiple times with Sam. Truth be told, neither brother had ever been too open about Dean's personal life, but that he was bisexual was more than unexpected, at least as far as she knew. He always wore such a man's man façade.

"Mmm, I dunno," Sam sat back in his seat thoughtfully. "It's funny, because Dean and Cas were really on totally opposite sides of the social spectrum in high school. Dean was this, you know, good looking football jock and Cas was this skinny, dorky kid that liked to draw in the library during lunch." He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "But I do remember watching them during that two weeks when they were working on that project. Dean would just sit at the table and… watch him." Ruby flicked her eyes up curiously. "He put on this whole front of making Cas do all the work, but sometimes I wonder if it wasn't just so he could sit there and watch him do it."

"They really liked each other that far back?" Ruby asked, supposing it was romantic, maybe.

"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "If Dean did like him back then, he was denying it too deeply to realize. And I can't speak for Cas. Although," he glanced up at the ceiling thoughtfully, "I wonder…"

"What?" Ruby asked in her abrupt, demanding fashion. Sam, however, had stood from his chair and was making his way over to the bookshelf in the corner. Mostly it was stacked up with car magazines and DVDs, but along the top rested only a few dusty old boxes. He remembered, a few years ago, going through them. Mostly they were old photographs from the days when their parents had been alive. Mary Winchester, their mother, had always had a passion for preserving memories. If anything at all had been happening, she'd been taking pictures of it. And because neither Sam nor Dean were in any way crafty, those photographs had been dumped in boxes and stored away – because what else were they supposed to do with them? Neither wanted to put them in albums, but it felt somehow wrong to throw them out.

Pulling down the box Sam's vague memory was telling him was the right one, he hauled it over to the dining room table before setting it up and pulling open the top flaps. Peering down into it, he was easily able to get a good view because of his height, his eyes scouring the pictures as his hands sifted through them. It was difficult work, looking for a specific set of pictures among the disorganized hundreds. However, with determination creasing his brows, Sam continued valiantly until the flash of Dean's red lettermen jacket caught his eye. Grabbing for it, he managed to pull out a stack of some five or six pictures all taken at about the same time.

"Ah, see?" he seemed pleased with himself as he shoved the box aside and laid evidence down for Ruby to view. "Exactly what I said." Both examining the photos, they saw a spread of images that were, apparently, taken in the house where Dean and Sam had once lived. They were close ups of two boys, at about high school age, working on some kind of project at a dining table. The boy on the right was concentrating, his vibrant blue eyes trained on a piece of cardboard he was cutting apart. His black hair was a scraggily, long, curling mess and his skinny (very skinny) frame was draped in a sweater that was clearly too big, accented by a pair of kaki slacks (though these were hardly visible under the table).

Really, he looked like a frumpy, ridiculous mess.

The other boy, however, was clearly the shinier of the two. Tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing that dazzling Dean smile, he was staring over at the young Cas, his lettermen jacket and holy jeans displaying to any who looked what cliché he fell into (except for his hair, which was a Backstreet Boy kind of long and made Sam roll his eyes).

"Aw, look at his face," Ruby teased as she tugged one of the photos closer. They were all of the same topic, only slight variations in pose happening between the boys as they progressed. In one of them, only one, Cas has glanced up to say something to Dean, who was listening in what looked like rapt attention.

And in the photo that followed it, Dean had placed his elbow on the table in support of his head, his doofus-like smile ogling Cas in what Sam now saw as an obvious manner.

"He looks like he's in love with him already," Ruby laughed some more.

"I know, right?" Sam chuckled. "Too bad it took him ten years to figure it out."

"Well what about you?" Ruby smiled up at him, only having so much interest in Dean and Cas. "Any more interesting photos in there?"

"Mmm, probably," Sam teased. "Not that I'd let you see them." He reached for the box.

"We'll see about that," Ruby threatened, her arms lunging for him. Sam laughed again, holding the box above his head, and supposed it was about time that Dean was as happy as he was.

**oOo**

Cas was nervous. He'd  _never_  been nervous standing outside his own house before, but as he stared up at the door, he could feel his anxieties tightening. And, for once in his life, he was sure the horror was spelled out on his face. There was a vague glow shining out through the windows, likely meaning there was a light on somewhere inside, which meant that Cas would have to face the situation the moment he walked in the door.

How he wished he didn't have to.

Taking a deep breath, he gulped and forced his feet to shuffle up the sidewalk before beginning to shakily climb the steps. Upon facing the door, he had to pause again, his hand outstretched at the handle, but unable to actually open it.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he didn't have to. It swung open a few seconds later.

"Castiel," his father said calmly upon seeing him, his eyebrows only rising slightly. "I hadn't realized you were up." Or that he hadn't even been in the house all night, apparently. "What are you doing out here?" He was dressed in his suit and held his briefcase – likely on his way to work.

Cas hoped his father attributed his expression of terror to being surprised at the door.

"I was getting some fresh air," he lied, his voice seeming to grate and growl in comparison to the smoothness of his father's.

"Ah, I see," Jim replied as he walked out onto the porch, leaving the door open and nodding Cas inside. "I have to get to work, so be helpful to your mother today. She seemed somewhat distressed. I think the news about Raymond Smith shook her up a bit. Not used to having something like that so close to home."

He really had no idea.

"Yes Sir," Cas nodded, unable to face those heavy brown eyes. No more words were exchanged between them, Jim heading out to his car while Cas watched. It wasn't until his father had pulled out of the drive that it occurred to him the door was still open, heat escaping the house. Feeling obligated now, he slipped in, closing the door as quietly as he could.

Silence.

He thought he'd likely be able to hear a pin drop, it was that quiet. Reaching down, he began to untie Dean's boots, the sound of the laces scraping against the leather enough to make him flinch. Removing them, he set them off to the side before allowing his socked feet to toe across the entranceway.

The light appeared to be coming from the dining room, Cas's heart beating faster and faster as he approached the corner that would reveal the room. He tried to calm his breathing, to make it as quiet as possible, but it still seemed overly loud no matter what he did. Yet, as he came upon the now infamous room, he saw that the woman sitting at the table hadn't heard him coming.

Back to him, Naomi was sitting stoically at the table, the tension in her form clear. She was hunched some over the table, apparently staring at the Christmas cloth spread out there. Before her, the table was completely empty, not even a crumb present, and the lack of busyness that usually surrounded his mother didn't ease Cas's nerves any. He had half a mind to turn around and leave again.

No, he had to face this. One way or another, he didn't have a choice. Besides, his father had just left, so it was the perfect time.

Eyes sidetracking slightly, he awkwardly cleared his throat, his mother starting before turning to look at him.

He couldn't return her stare, his cheeks reddening as she gaped at him.

"Castiel," she murmured breathily, looking as though she were surprised to see her own son standing inside her house. He offered her no words in return however, his defenses high and ready for anything she had to throw at him. He simply stood, looking away, and waited.

"Your… your father," she began after a moment. "He just left…" As if that should mean something, though Cas couldn't place exactly what. So he still didn't offer a reply. "I-I'm glad your back Castiel," she continued. "I thought that…" That what? That he'd never come back? Well, maybe the fear  _was_  valid.

Slowly, she stood, Cas becoming even more defensive as his shoulders hunched. As if preparing himself for a blow. Naomi noticed, her own expression becoming even more grief-stricken upon seeing the way her son was obviously afraid of her. She'd raised him to expect only love from her, yet there he stood as if expecting some kind of beating. It pained her excessively, that he would feel so.

She didn't dare go any closer to him.

"Castiel…" Yet she was also at a loss for how to start. Or what to say. Because there was a giant elephant between them and it was doing its best to block their way.

Lips tightening, Cas gulped again, an abrupt kind of rashness assaulting him. He still didn't look at her, but his voice soon erupted from his throat.

"How long have you known?" he blurted, Naomi flicking her gaze downward.

"Since…" her breath shook as she sighed. "Since you were in high school."

"What?" He did look up at her then, both shocked and astounded. He couldn't believe that she'd honestly known that long. After all, that was over ten years. Over ten years and she'd never said anything to him, or even hinted at having found out his biggest secret.

"Yes," she nodded. "I… I was upstairs cleaning one day and… and I knew that you wanted your privacy, which I tried to respect," because at one point he'd asked that no one enter his room without asking and Naomi had been understanding enough to oblige, "but… but you must have been working on a project or something because there'd been these little, tiny bits of paper coming out under the door." She remembered it all vividly – a memory she knew she'd never forget. "So I… I went in, just to vacuum up the mess. I… I shouldn't have done what I did, but your diary had been sitting on your desk." Cas paled, wondering how he could have been so careless. "I let my curiosity get the better of me and… and read far too much." She looked ashamed. "Your sketchbook too, I saw." The one with all the Dean sketches he'd done, likely. Add that to his diary, which had probably been filled with entries about the Winchester, and the truth would be pretty apparent.

His most private thoughts and actions. Back then anyway.

"Oh my god…" he muttered, actually beginning to get nauseous. His skin was clammy, his body trembling, and for a moment he actually thought he might collapse. Naomi noticed the change as well, her eyes widening as she took a step closer to him.

"You should sit down," she advised. "Please Castiel."

"How can you act this way?" he asked, his blue eyes confused. "How can you even look at me? Or stand to be around me?" His tone broke some, his posture almost hunched, making him appear just as afraid as he actually felt.

"Castiel, I…" Naomi's hand fell back to her side. "I've had… a lot of time to come to terms with it." Which, honestly, didn't tell him very much.

"You never told Father?"

"No," she shook her head. "When I first found out, I had… considered it. That maybe Jim could help you through whatever it was that was making you this way." Like it was some sort of disease. "But I was too afraid of what people would say, for your father's career," she closed her eyes. "And I feared he'd send you away."

"Wouldn't that have been better?" His tone was a little spiteful.

"You are my  _son_  Castiel," she said almost sharply. "No mother, in her right mind, would  _want_  to send her children to such places." To the places his father had mentioned sending Raymond Smith to. "And, back then I… I think I had hoped it would be a phase. That you'd grow out of it. Or that maybe… maybe it was simply Dean Winchester." She sighed. "I was grateful, when you went off to college. That once you were away from him, maybe you'd find your way. But…"

"You don't agree with how I'm living my life…" he deduced.

"As your mother, there are plenty of things that you've done that I don't agree with," she verified. "But… it's your life Castiel, and it's no longer any of my business what goes on in it."

"So you've been ignoring it then," he said, the idea still hurtful. "Pretending that… that who I am doesn't exist."

"No Castiel," she shook her head. "I think about you everyday. You're my only son. You think I could just… throw you away?" He didn't know. He'd heard of plenty of parents who had. "No, I… I wanted to understand it. I wanted to know what God said, and what others were saying. I… I looked everywhere I could. Maybe originally it was because I wanted to try and fix you…" She paused. "But… the bible wasn't clear enough, and so many other sources told me to love you before I could… could hate you." As if there was someone who could demand that she hate a person in cold blood. "I tried looking elsewhere, researching it all. And I read about so many boys like you who were abused or hurt or… or killed. And I worried. I worried all the time." Her hand reached up to hold her forehead, her eyes watering.

"There were other stories too, about families being ripped apart and I… I couldn't stand the thought of never seeing you again. So I looked outside my faith for answers too. I tried to find a point of view that would justify what you were doing without jeopardizing what I believed." She sighed. "And maybe what I believed changed. Gradually…"

Cas, blue eyes wide, almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"God is about love, and understanding," she persisted, "and tolerance. That was always what I was taught, so I… I think I reformed my thinking based on that." Cas was gaping some, shocked. "You weren't doing anything to hurt anyone else, and you seemed… happy. I didn't… I didn't understand the crime in that." Her eyebrows were pulled together severely, as if she was still battling with what she said. The fact that she'd even tried, however, was more than Cas had ever anticipated.

More than he'd ever considered possible.

Abruptly, as though his body were suffering from whiplash, he felt himself crack, his legs giving out on him as he sank to the floor. Landing on his knees, his arms were limp at his sides, his eyes staring at the hardwood as he tried to comprehend what he'd just heard. He was gay; his mother knew he was gay. And she'd reconfigured her entire belief system just so she could justify still loving him? No one in his position ever anticipated such a thing to be possible, let alone to actually happen. Yet there was his mother, bending down before him in worry and concern as tears started to roll down his cheeks.

Just as she'd always been – his support.

"Castiel!" she crouched down quickly in front of him, her eyes initially searching in concern before she caught sight of the tears, at which point her shoulders dropped and her own eyes overflowed. "Castiel…"

He looked up at her, his breathing hitched as he tried to figure out what to say. How to respond. How he could possibly understand this woman in front of him, who was now showing more open-mindedness and compassion than maybe anyone he'd ever met – a quality he'd never realized had existed inside her. Because it was one thing to be raised into a lifestyle that encouraged acceptance, and quite another to have had to fight against the tide to get there. How much pain and doubt and suffering had she been through to get to that point? To get to a place where she could look at him, knowing what he was, and still want to love him?

And this woman was his mother?

Lips pursed, she reached out, her hand shaking as she laid it against his cheek. Her touch only made Cas more upset, his lips and chin quivering as he tried to take her in. All of her, because he'd never given himself the chance to do so before. Always his actions had been swayed by fear, by desperation to keep things from her. But now…

Now that was over.

He was free of it.

"You're my baby Castiel," she said through shaking words. "I'll always love you."

Which only broke him up further. Placing his hand over hers on his cheek, he closed his eyes and shook as she pulled him closer. Until his head was resting against her shoulder, her hands falling to his hair and back, where she stroked him gently.

Reaching out, he allowed his own arms to wrap around her middle, feeling closer to her in that moment than he had since he was an infant. Because he'd known who he was since his elementary years, and had held that secret from her all the time following.

Not anymore.

Behind the scenes, sitting at the top of the stairs, Anna smiled over at Balthazar, who grinned back, the two having been listening the whole time. They were both aware of how tormented Cas had been over the years concerning his family. Welcoming them to Chicago had always been a tense, anxiety-ridden mess. One where Cas stashed away anything and everything that could give him away and whoever he was dating at the time had had to vacate the premises for the holidays. It'd been a torture for him, which made his friends feel his relief too.

Of course, no matter how much good news could be given, Naomi was only half the equation. And, based on the night prior, they could all pretty well gauge where the other shoe would fall. It wouldn't be a match for what was going on downstairs.

However, one was still better then none, or so Anna and Balthazar figured.

For a long time, the only sounds heard throughout the house were Cas's tears and Naomi vainly attempting to comfort him. It was coming on eight in the morning when Cas finally approached the stairs, early morning dawn shining in through the windows as he spotted Anna and Balthazar. They smiled at him encouragingly, to which he replied with a mere purse of his lips as he headed up past them to his bedroom.

He remained there for some few hours, the house generally quiet until noon came around. At which point, Naomi called for lunch and they all filtered their way back into the dining room. Outside, the sky was a cloudy, bright gray. Snow, perhaps, to come in the near future.

"I just got a text from Dean," Cas mentioned quite nonchalantly as he sat down to the table. "He got out of work early and was going to come over." He didn't notice the odd look his mother gave him, or how Anna and Balthazar rolled their eyes. "His little brother and his girlfriend are in town for the holidays as well. I said it was alright if they came over too." None of which his mother objected to.

"When are they going to get here?" she asked. "Do I need to bring out more food?" Because they were having the leftovers from the night before. Cas, thoughtful, stared down at his plate before answering.

"Dean will be hungry," he decided. "He's always hungry." He then went about getting his own meal, once again completely missing the way Anna and Naomi exchanged a look, Balthazar chuckling silently to himself. "I don't know about Sam and Ruby."

"Well I'll go get some out just to be sure," Naomi decided, though she was getting her own food first, so it was likely she was going to eat before doing so. "I'll warm up the pie too. Dean sounded like he'd wanted some."

"So Cas," Balthazar started a second later. "About you and De-"

A knock on the door interrupted him. Rising quickly (maybe too quickly) to his feet, Cas went to answer it, straightening his dapper blue sweater on the way. Pulling the door open, he was not at all surprised to see Dean standing there with an arrogant smile on his face, Sam and Ruby behind him.

"Took my advice then, did ya?" Dean asked, his hands trapping the doorframe as he leaned in a little closer. "Coming back wasn't too bad?"

"No, it wasn't," Cas verified simply, not seeming to catch on to Dean's suggestive body language (or he was ignoring it). "My mother just got done putting lunch together, if you're interested."

Dean straightened right up then. "I was hoping you'd say that," he winked once at Cas and walked in, quite like he owned the place as Cas stepped out of the way. Rolling his eyes, Sam followed, both him and Ruby giving him short hellos as they did.

"Sorry about invading," Sam apologized on the way by. "Dean insisted…"

"It's fine," Cas verified, nodding once to them both. "You're all welcome." Thus the group trooped in entirely, the door clicking closed behind them. They removed their shoes at the entranceway, Dean whisking his way into the house before Cas without even the slightest consideration as to whether he was welcome to do so.

"Hey," he greeted the two at the table (Naomi was back in the kitchen). "I heard there was food." He sat down at the plate that had previously been Cas's, the food already put together but untouched. Opening up the sandwich, which was bare when compared to some, he furrowed his brows in disapproval before reaching out and beginning to soil it with whatever else he could find.

Cas, upon seeing him, didn't say anything. Instead, he sat down as well – next to Dean – before taking another plate and repeating his previous efforts.

"I'm not used to having so many people in my house at the holidays," Naomi started as she walked in with more food – to replenish what had already been taken. "It certainly is nice, for once."

"My pleasure," Dean smiled up at her while taking a bite out of Cas's sandwich. Which then made it difficult for him to speak and unable to properly introduce the people he'd dragged in with him. Not that it mattered. Sam was more than willing to take over.

"I'm Sam Winchester," he explained, holding out his hand for Naomi to shake, which she did. "This is Ruby, my girlfriend. We didn't mean to burst in on your house," he cringed awkwardly. "Dean insisted that we come however."

"It's quite alright Sam," Naomi assured. "Dean's been over almost every day since Cas got in, so I've grown quite accustomed to it." She smiled at Dean. "It's something I think I'll  _have_  to get used to." The man of discussion cast her a skeptical look, one that he turned quickly on Cas with an amused glint to his eyes. Cas, however, didn't seem to take the hint.

"What?" he asked after a moment, when Dean was still staring at him.

Dean's shoulders fell. "Never mind," he shook his head and went back to his sandwich.

"What?" he asked again, his eyebrows somewhat furrowed.

"Man, he really hasn't changed," Sam muttered, both Anna and Balthazar attempting to hide their smiles behind their hands. Naomi merely raised her eyebrows, as if to acknowledge her son's deficiency, before sitting back down in her seat.

" _What_?" Cas asked, focusing intently on Dean.

"Don't worry about it Cas," Anna tried to sooth. "It's nothing." Her words did little to comfort him however, his eyes narrowing some at Dean, who appeared to be chuckling silently to himself.

"What's so funny?"

"Don't worry about it," Dean repeated Anna's order. "Went over your head anyway…" That last was muttered, though Cas still heard it perfectly well. And, because he'd tried so hard these last ten years to improve his social etiquette, it actually offended him a great deal that Dean would act so flippant about it.

"I'm sorry," he tried his best at sarcasm, "that my 'people skills,'" he made air quotes, "leave something to be 'desired,'" more air quotes. "You don't need to be a 'jerk' about it."

"Whoa, kill the quotes there John McCain," Dean actually reached out and pushed Cas's hands back toward the table. "You're not doin' that right."

Cas glared at him.

"Someone's feisty today," Balthazar commented dryly.

"Bet he gets that from his mother," Dean cocked a smarmy grin as he glanced over at Naomi, who had raised her eyebrows skeptically, but didn't comment. Cas, on the other hand, was only more confused by the banter going on around him that no one would explain.

"Dean, you're disgusting," Sam scolded.

"I thought it was funny," Balthazar muttered.

"Will you guys stop?" Anna interjected. "Look at Cas. I don't think he has any idea what's going on." She, however, couldn't hold back laughing, which didn't make Cas feel any better. For some reason, he had the feeling he was the butt of some joke no one had bothered to tell him about.

And his mother was involved?

"I don't care," he decided, turning to his sandwich and resolutely deciding he didn't want anything to do with any of them.

"That is quite enough," Naomi came to her son's defense. "I think we're all quite aware of Castiel's strengths and weaknesses. No need to exploit them."

"Oh I'm perfectly aware of his strengths and weaknesses," Dean blatantly flirted before, quite to Cas's shocked dismay, reaching down under the table and grabbing his thigh rather roughly (which caused him to jump a considerable amount). However, no matter the grip, the intention was there, spread all over his face.

"Dean!" Cas hissed, shoving his hand back. "My mother is…" His lips tightened, as if he was afraid to continue, his blue eyes flicking quickly to Naomi before returning to the table.

"Dean," Naomi sounded reprimanding. "I really don't appreciate that kind of behavior under my roof."

"Sorry Mrs. Novak," he raised his hands up in the air, as if that would somehow justify innocence. "Won't happen again." Maybe. And she didn't seem to entirely believe him either, her eyes spelling it all out as she stood. Shaking her head, she walked across the room, apparently to the bathroom as the door clicked closed behind her.

Cas turned on Dean. "What do you think you're doing?!" he growled, quite beyond irritated.

"Calm down," Dean laughed. "Your mom knows what we've been doing." Cas's eyes bugged at this, as if he couldn't possibly believe such a thing, and Dean sighed with a roll of his eyes.

"He's not wrong Cas," Anna added. "I mean, she knows your gay, and you've been spending almost every other night you've been here at Dean's apartment. She may be your mother, but she's not daft." The logic of such words took a moment to sink in, Cas realizing, for the first time, that he hadn't covered his tracks as well as he'd thought – because he'd been under the impression that neither of his parents would ever fathom that he'd be doing what he was, and certainly not with Dean Winchester of all people. But after bearing in mind the fact that his mother knew…

He felt his cheeks rush with red.

"Oh, poor Cas," Balthazar chuckled. "I've never seen him blush like that before."

"I have," Dean grinned impishly before reaching under the table again, this time grabbing Cas around the thigh with both hands. Knocking his knees into the table, Cas nearly vaulted from the chair in surprise, his eyes spelling murder as he took in Dean's suggestive stare.

Breathing deeply, he steadied himself before shoving Dean away again and pushing back on his chair. Standing, he surveyed them all as he grabbed up his nearly empty plate of food.

"I hate all of you right now," he finally decided before turning on his heel and walking to the kitchen.

"You're terrible," Sam commented, looking directly at Dean. "It's a wonder he likes you at all."

"I know," Dean smiled again, swiveling in his seat to watch as Cas banged his dishes around in the kitchen. At about the same moment, Naomi appeared again, strolling in after him and thinking only shortly on Cas's irritated behavior.

"I still have the pie from yesterday if anyone is interested," she advertised a second later.

"I've been thinking about that pie all day Mrs. Novak," Dean verified willingly. "I love me some pie." And only Sam realized that, though he came off as a flirt, this was Dean's way of winning Naomi's favor. He was being equal amounts of smarm and gentleman, creating a rather charming friction. He was trying to impress her.

"Don't give him any," Cas stated coldly, glancing over at his mother as he stood beside her at the counter. She gave him a rather critical look, as if to scold him for such rudeness, but he seemed resolute that Dean should get no pie.

"Don't be like that Cas," Dean whined, finally frowning. "I want the pie."

Cas glared at him.

"I always wondered," Naomi started a few seconds later, beginning to scoop pieces of the pie out of the tray and onto plates for everyone, even though they hadn't said anything on the subject, "how Castiel got the nickname 'Cas.' Chuck and Samandriel don't call you that." She'd looked to her son.

"Cas is the name Dean gave him back in high school," Sam willingly explained. "He has this sick humor about giving everyone nicknames."

"Shut up Sammy," Dean pointed at his younger brother threateningly, but Sam wasn't fazed.

"And it's what he told us to call him when we met back in college," Anna shrugged. "I guess it stuck." Naomi was nodding, somewhat relieved and thankful to finally be learning more about her son than what he had ever allowed. It was as though, with the truth out, the barriers around him were coming down. If only forcibly because of his friends.

And boyfriend?

She didn't quite know what to think of that.

"What can I say, I'm a persuasive guy," Dean was more focused on the pie as Naomi brought him his piece.

"Or it's because Cas was so in love with you that he basically let you walk all over him," Sam replied sharply, completely unaware of the facts from that morning and that blatantly referencing such things could be potentially sensitive. "I remember that science project you guys did together," he continued blindly.

"So do I," Naomi didn't seem at all bothered however, well aware of the feelings her son had had toward Dean (which had apparently remained ten years later). "I vaguely remember hearing something about Castiel doing all the work while you watched." She'd crossed her arms over her chest, her words direct quotes from Cas's mouth after his first day working with Dean all those years ago.

"Well," Dean swallowed his bite of pie, "I think your memory must be mistaken," he was still flirting. "I'd never abuse your son's intelligence." He winked again, his complimentary lie making it difficult to somehow rebuke.

"Dude," Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Quit flirting with your boyfriend's mom. That's gross."

"You're gross," Dean accused immaturely.

Cas remained silent as the conversation ran away from him.

Naomi, however, was smiling, though her expression told her son nothing. Until, that was, she looked over at him, blue eyes soft as she took in Cas's identical pair. He pursed his lips, his heart racing, but there was no denouncing in her expression – no shame or accusing. No. A little confusion, maybe, and curiosity, but nothing that could result in hatred.

She loved him, he realized that truly then, and she would accept whoever he chose as a partner. Be them male or female.

The conversation between Sam and Dean continued, a few laughs echoing around the room, but Cas drowned it out. Instead, rounding the bar and entering back into the dining room, he reached out and wrapped his arms around his mother's shoulders, her eyes bugging in surprise as he embraced her.

He wasn't exactly huge on physical contact, at least, not in the friendly sense, and his motion seemed to take his mother by surprise. Yet as his arms tightened around her, she calmed, her soft smile still apparent as she reached her hands up and gripped at his arms, which were bound around her neck as he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

How long had it been since he'd taken comfort from her presence (besides that morning)? Since he'd really allowed himself to see her as his mother and not an obstacle to be avoided?

Dishonesty has a price after all, one he'd been paying for years.

Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned…

At the table, those in the know had quieted, Sam and Ruby glancing up and becoming more perturbed by the fact that everyone seemed to be taking some kind of sentimentality from the hug, rather than the fact that it was happening in general. They didn't question however, instead waiting until the mother and son broke apart and the attitude of the room smoothed out.

"So you and Cas are boyfriends now then?" Anna dared to say, the first to interject into the silence as she eyed Dean critically. In the same second, her eyes flicked to Cas, a kind of guilted warning portrayed within them – one the latter chose to ignore.

"Seems that way," Dean smiled, apple pie crumbs burrowed into the corners of his mouth. Cas had made his way back over and was sitting down beside him, surveying his own piece of pie before glancing up to Dean.

"You have pie on your face," he stated matter-o-factly, Dean raising his eyebrows before reaching up and wiping the crumbs away with the back of his hand.

"I still can't believe you're dating a guy," Sam stated, eyes narrowed, and his brother glared in response. "I mean, not in the sense that I thought it impossible, but I just never imagined you'd ever be comfortable enough with yourself to admit you like men." Naomi, happy to listen and learn from the conversation, sat down and stayed quiet. Cas flicked his gaze to her occasionally, as if to gauge her reactions to what was being said, but her face was as blank as his could sometimes be.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked sharply, clearly and honestly offended.

"Well, I just…" Sam shrugged. "You always seemed so…"

"So  _what_?"

"So… you…" Sam's lips pulled down at an awkward angle, clearly as though he didn't know what to say, and Dean found himself once again glaring.

"He means your hyper-masculinity," Anna explained, all eyes twitching her way. "Most guys in your position, the ones that are happy to be with women, wouldn't bother with men, even if they  _were_ attracted to them. It's just easier to ignore that part of themselves."

"I'm hyper-masculine?" Dean asked, looking as though he thought he should be offended, but not entirely sure.

"Sure," Balthazar nodded. "You're a 'manly-man,' you know? Cars and guns and combat boots. Compared to our Cassie here, you're a regular John Wayne."

"Well thanks Pilgrim," Dean scowled bitterly, still uncertain whether to be offended or not.

"So…" Naomi's clear voice silenced them all, her curious stare set on Dean, "you're attracted to men… and women?" Cas couldn't understand it, why he was embarrassed, but listening to his mother try to work through the situation brought a flush of scarlet to his cheeks as well as the inability to look at her.

"Apparently," Dean replied flatly.

"Then why don't you simply… date women?" Naomi asked, her curiosity innocent as she glanced around the group, as though to ask whether such a question was appropriate or not.

"Ah…" Dean tried to find a way to suitably answer the question. "Well…"

"His attraction cannot be helped any more than mine," Cas explained delicately, for once sensitive to the mindset of others and realizing that, though such answers may seem obvious to him and his friends, his mother was only just (despite whatever research she'd been doing the past ten years) beginning to understand.

"Besides," Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean's liked Cas since they were in high school."

"I don't remember that," Dean commented smartly.

"Yeah, well," Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the photos he and Ruby had been discussing earlier that morning, having wanted to show it to Cas, before lying it on the table. "I think your face in this picture spells it out pretty accurately."

Everyone at the table shot up with curiosity then, leaning their heads over to get a better look at the photo. Before anyone could get a real good look however, Dean had reached out and slapped his hand harshly over it, looking over at his brother suspiciously before dragging it over the tabletop to his side. He didn't know what the picture was of, after all, and wanted to look it over before allowing anyone else to see it (though he didn't recall anything overly embarrassing or inappropriate happening between him and Cas during high school). Ignoring the looks of disapproval he received from Anna and Balthazar, he shielded the photo from the views of others before looking at it.

Cas was leaning over beside him, also intrigued.

"What?" Dean glanced back up at Sam. "There's nothing in this photo that shows that." Him liking Cas, that was.

"C'mon Dean," Sam reached over with his long arms and snapped the picture from his brother's hands. "Look at your face." He passed the photo to Anna, who grabbed at it greedily. "You're practically salivating."

"What?" Dean balked.

"Oh, look at him," Balthazar teased once the photo reached him. "Cas is the apple of his eye." He then gave the photo to Naomi, who surveyed it with furrowed brows. Cas, on the other hand, remained silent, eating his pie in peace and managing to hide his slight smile behind the façade of chewing.

"You can say whatever you want," Dean waved them off. "That was ten years ago. I don't even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, let alone anything from back then." That was, whether he'd felt anything for Cas. Mostly, he didn't see how it was relevant. He was with Cas  _then_ , so what did it matter whether he'd liked him in high school or not?

"I find that hard to believe," Sam commented dryly. "That you don't remember what you had for breakfast yesterday, that is."

Dean glared at him.

"I'm pretty sure  _I_  know what he had for breakfast yesterday," Balthazar winked in Cas's direction, who didn't seem to quite understand the reference. Dean looked as though to comment, but then shrugged as though he had a point, Naomi pursing her lips disapprovingly as she set the photo back on the table.

Before any more teasing could take place however, the front door opened, the entire group looking to the entranceway as Jim Novak walked into the house.

Like an anvil had been dropped down upon them, the mood fell away, replaced instead by a stiffness that even Sam and Ruby noticed. Reaching out quickly, Cas retrieved the photo and handed it to Dean, who stuffed it into the pocket on his jeans, which were more generous than Cas's dress slacks.

"Jim," Naomi greeted, surprised. "I wasn't expecting you back so early." She'd risen quickly from her seat, taking her husband's coat as he'd slipped it off. Without even the slightest bit of acknowledgment toward his wife, Jim walked to the dining room and sat down where'd she'd been previously – at the head of the table. He surveyed the group of young people in his typical, static way, his expression unreadable until he finally glanced to his wife.

"It was a long morning," he explained, his voice that smooth, easy tone. Cas, however, found an odd kind of hostility rise in his chest, quite unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Never in his entire life had he viewed his parents as any more than a single unite. Always the same, always performing in a certain pattern. Yet, now that his mother had broken away from that, he was able to really see how different they were.

He didn't like that his mother had jumped to her feet and begun the automatic service to his father. He didn't like that her seat had been usurped. He didn't like that his father was looking at them as though he knew any and all above them.

He didn't like it. Not at all.

"Whoa, Cas, chill," Dean whispered into his ear as Naomi continued to question Jim. The way Cas's shoulders had stiffened, his hands clawing at his own legs under the table – Dean had seen it all. The darkness that had entered his expression, which was turned on his father. That piercing anger.

Because, for once, Cas was allowing himself to be disapproving of his parents. No longer was he able to make excuses for their ignorance, not after his mother had proven that to be a falsity. There was no defense for his father, not anymore.

"Raymond Smith's parents came in to speak to us again," Jim was saying, the tight, strained awkwardness of the discussion nearly suffocating Sam and Ruby, who were more than able to sense that they should simply keep their mouths shut and listen.

"R-really," Naomi replied, her expression paling.

"They are lost," he shook his head. "Their son still refuses to face his wrongs, but they are hesitant to send him away." Dean grabbed Cas's hand harshly under the table, hopefully trying to dissuade him from doing something he'd regret. "I told them they were only enabling him, but they still seem uncertain on what to do."

"You advised them to send him to a 'cure-the-gay' camp?" Cas interjected, his voice coming through the conversation like a misplaced flat note.

Jim, who wasn't accustomed to his son (or anyone) questioning him so straight out, looked to Cas in surprise, pausing before giving a response.

"I advised them to send him somewhere that can help him," Jim replied, as if denouncing Cas's label of the places. Still standing, Naomi had paled further, everyone in the room abruptly on edge as they wondered, exactly, how far Cas was now willing to go.

"Maybe he can't be helped," Cas reasoned, his blue eyes meeting his father's brown with unblinking intensity. Jim, however, didn't seem to sense the aggression in his son's countenance.

"If willing, everyone can be helped Castiel," he reasoned. "You should not look upon the misguided with so little faith."

Cas's lips tightened.

"You are  _right_ ," Dean interrupted, still clutching Cas's hand as though afraid he was going to lunge at his father then and there. Sam and Ruby were looking at each across from him, finally beginning to realize just how precarious the conversation was. "Cas, you should be more  _optimistic_." He looked down at the aforementioned, who turned his gaze to Dean in anger and frustration.

"We're really sorry to hear you've had such a long morning," Anna started, smiling stiffly as Jim then looked to her, gaze ever intent. "Don't let us bother you Mr. Novak. You probably just want to relax. We were going to go out and pick up some last minute… gifts anyway," making up excuses on the fly. "So we'll all get out of your hair."

"Your thoughtfulness is appreciated Anna," Jim nodded, "though unnecessary."

"Well… we have to get the gifts so…" She shrugged helplessly. Jim only nodded however, as if accepting her dismissal, and, looking to the rest at the table quickly, she seemed to spur them into action. Rising quickly – some more clumsily than others – they were soon on their feet, Dean doing his best to guide the frustrated Cas to the door for his shoes and coat. Soon, despite the awkward silence permeating them all, they were headed out the door and down the front steps, Cas stiff and slow while Dean pushed him along.

"So, where are we really going?" Balthazar asked quietly once they were out on the lawn, the snow riding up their shoes.

"Anywhere but here," Dean hissed, his grip on Cas's sleeve tight, as if it were necessary to somehow hold the man back from going inside and acting out his life's vexations. Beginning to pull Cas toward his car, he ignored further conversation as he got in, pointing once at his boyfriend in order to issue that he do the same.

Seemingly glaring at Dean now, Cas did as told, dropping himself down into the passenger seat before crossing his arms over his chest and staring out the windshield.

Watching as they got into the Impala, the other four quickly jumped to action, heading over as well. Sam and Ruby slid in the backseat first – Dean was starting the car – and were required to squish to one side as Anna forced herself in beside Ruby.

Obviously displeased with the course of arrangements, Balthazar hastily jogged around to the passenger side, opening the door again and staring down at Cas. Without even the slightest reaction, Cas scooted over until he was right up beside their driver, Balthazar ducking inside just as Dean, now quite scrunched, reached up and set the car in reverse.

Outside, light flakes of snow were littering the windshield, the wipers seeming harsh and grating as they slid noisily back and forth.

Dean, despite being in control of the vehicle, still had little idea of where to actually take them, the silence in the vehicle leaving him with no assistance. It wasn't until Sam cleared his throat, causing a few to jump, that he was given a clear destination.

"Ruby and I were going to meet Gabriel at the park later," he said somewhat quietly, as if cautious of somehow upsetting the delicate mood. "You could drop us off there now, if you like."

"Sure thing Sammy," Dean replied through his teeth, though secretly thankful to have somewhere to set his attention. Besides Cas, that was. Continuing on down the road, he detoured through town until he neared the outskirts – about a twenty-minute drive. Above them, the sky was a cloudy, shadowed fog of early afternoon snow, doing little to lift the tension.

However, as most people were apt to stay inside on colder, blizzardy days, there was no one else at the park as Dean pulled in. Coming to a stop, those in the car seemed to pause for only a moment before Sam, hasty to alleviate the pressure, shoved his way out and was followed shortly by Ruby.

Anna and Balthazar looked once at each other before also shoving off, Dean left to look at Cas rather helplessly while also being thoroughly ignored. It wasn't until everyone else had wandered a safe distance away that he dared say something.

"Cas…" he started gruffly, somewhat peeved when, as if spurred by his voice, the other man scooted away before reaching out to the door. Leaving the car, he began to hunker off across the park in the opposite direction than everyone else had gone.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Dean trailed after him.

"Cas, slow down," he issued after a few moments. Still he was ignored, Cas soon walking along the border of a frozen pond set off to the left side of the park. There were barren, empty trees spotting the area as well, a playground some twenty yards on the other side of the water. "Cas!"

Still nothing. Instead, coming to a stop, Dean watched as he turned and began to pace back and forth before the ice, his arms crossed over his pea coat, face set in hard focus.

"Hey," Dean approached him slowly, his hand reaching out and finding its way to his shoulder. Cas was forced to stop. Or throw Dean off, which he didn't do. "Talk to me," he said simply, forcing himself to remain calm even as Cas looked about to explode.

"What is there to talk about?" he snapped, Dean having to remind himself that it wasn't he whom Cas was angry with. "My father thinks I'm an abomination. A sinner who's going to hell. That's just something I have to accept, right?" He looked to Dean, honest questioning in his eyes.

And Dean didn't know what to say.

Helpless, Cas finally did shrug him off, walking a few more feet before bending down and tracing his finger atop the snow. As if, perhaps, to distract himself.

Dean tried to think of something to say.

"Listen Cas," he started as he crouched down beside him. "I can't give you any helpful advice on this. My parents are dead," he shook his head, "so I don't have to worry about how they'd react to something… like me being with another dude. But… I'm here… so…" That counted for something, right?

"I refuse to be ashamed," Cas murmured quietly, determinedly. His breathing was tight, Dean surveying his tight profile as he spoke. "Who I am isn't wrong. If my mother can see that, then he should be able to as well." His father, that was. "I don't want to hide it anymore…"

"I understand that," Dean replied, trying to say the right thing. "And I don't think you should have to, but…" he sighed, "if you tell him, I don't think it will go over as well as it did with Naomi." A hard truth. "If you tell him… I think you'll rip your family apart."

"So, what do I do?" Cas asked quietly. "Keep it a secret from him forever?" Like he had been for the last ten years? "Keep censoring what I say, and who I'm around?" He shook his head, those lost, hurt blue eyes finally meeting Dean's own. "I can't even post pictures of myself with… with other men on Facebook Dean. Because someone from high school might see it, or someone's parent. Or someone from the church. I'm just… sick of hiding…"

And Dean didn't know what to say. Instead, able to offer no words of comfort or wisdom, he watched as those blue eyes fell to the snow again, calmer now, but just as wounded. Reaching out, he allowed his arm to wrap heavily around Cas's shoulders, pulling him closer with the hope that maybe such action would be better than nothing.

He wasn't accounting for how much space was actually between him and Cas. Accidentally knocking the other man off balance, he fell into him, the both of them landing clumsily to their rears in the snow while Cas reached out in an attempt to steady himself. Instead, he just ended up with both hands submerged in the snow, which was far different than simply drawing his fingers through the stuff.

Pulling them out quickly, he looked down to see that they were already red, snow chilling his wrists as it fell up through his sleeves.

"Sorry," Dean laughed shortly, remaining where he was in the snow as he held his hands up to Cas's. Thighs knocking together, their breath was visible in the cold, intermingling as Dean gripped Cas's own between his leather-bound fingers. "You should have worn gloves," he commented softly.

"I hadn't realized I would need them," Cas replied, equally as quiet. Both staring down at their hands, they watched as Dean enveloped Cas's own as best he could, the snow quickly melting and leaving wet stains across Dean's leather gloves.

"You know," Dean started gruffly a few moments later, "you have really great hands." This took Cas somewhat aback, his brow furrowing as he glanced up to meet Dean's gaze, but the other man wasn't looking at him. No, he was quite focused on their hands still. "I mean, you could have a whole hand porn thing going for you."

"What?" Cas asked, clearly unsure how he was supposed to respond.

"Just take it as a compliment," Dean decided, explaining no more as he continued to try and rub warmth back into those bare hands. Cas, however, found that the leather wasn't much warmer than the snow and, not wanting his supposedly beautiful hands to freeze (plus, there was the whole him being an artist thing – couldn't really afford to lose them), he pushed them forward out of Dean's hold and into the other man's jacket. Wrapping his arms around Dean's back, he snuggled his way up to him, the leather falling around him as he let his hands grip at the shirt beneath.

Dean, not expecting the hug, fell further back into the snow, his whole body falling flat into the powder as Cas ended up on top of him. Still hugging him within his jacket, Cas buried his face into the crook between his shoulder and neck, Dean laughing once before, as though willingly defeated, allowing his arms to collapse around Cas as well. Holding him, he ignored the chill against his back and instead stared up at the cloudy, afternoon sky, Cas's heat enough to keep him warmed for the time being.

"Dean…" Cas murmured some seconds later, his blue eyes staring at the shadows against his neck as he flexed his hands against Dean's back.

"Hmm?" was the response he got.

"Do you…" Cas took a deep breath. "Do you believe in… soul mates?"

Dean didn't have an immediate response. It was clear that Cas must have something particular in mind in asking, but it wasn't exactly bothersome to Dean. Maybe a few days ago it might have been, but he'd found himself just as questioning as Cas had been recently. What with the painting and their abrupt attraction (or so it'd seemed after so many years).

However, he couldn't quite bring himself to be… superstitious enough to believe in something like soul mates.

"No," he finally decided. "I think that, maybe, we're all connected. In a way." But soul mates were too farfetched. "What about you?"

"I did once," Cas verified honestly. "Ten years ago. But… I don't think I do either… anymore…"

"You thought I was your soul mate?" Dean asked straight, referring to their high school days. "That's, like, dorkishly romantic."

"Thanks," Cas said flatly before clearing his throat and continuing. "I was young, and I felt like… like I was connected to you somehow. I guess I've just been trying to figure out if I still feel that way or not." Whether he was truly as… in love with Dean as he'd thought he'd once been, or if he was going off of desires still haunting him from those times.

It was all just so much like a dream – him and Dean.

"What's your rush?" Dean laughed some. "You don't have to figure it out right now. It's not like we're on some kind of timetable or something." His words were careless, easy, and probably a result of the high he felt when he was around his "boyfriend." Cas, though, couldn't bring himself to ignore it anymore. Not after his mother, and after hearing what his father had said. Hiding wasn't going to help anyone.

Sitting up, he removed himself from Dean's person, the attitude between them sobering quickly as what little heat they'd had was vacuumed away. Elbows on his knees, Cas stared out at the pond, his lips pursing. Dean sat up behind him, seeing the error in his words as he stared at the back of Cas's head.

"Right," he started, clearly bitter. "You don't live here."

"My life is in Chicago," Cas admitted, his heart constricting in pain even as the words left his lips. Because he was afraid that… that facing this would lose him Dean. Honestly, there was a part of him that was reeling with ideas. That was arguing that it wouldn't be so bad to give up his career and his apartment and simply move back to Burr. He'd be with Dean, and that was all that seemed to matter.

But that was illogical. And… ridiculous.

"I have a career Dean," he continued. "And it's… important to me." That he be able to be away from Kansas and everything that came with it. That he have his own life, his own place. He couldn't be himself with his family, but in Chicago…

He had sanctuary.

Dean wanted to rebuke with something along the lines of "well so did he," but knew that wasn't true. Working at Bobby's shop wasn't a career; it was a necessity. What little he did to survive. There was nothing holding him to Burr, he knew that, but had stubbornly remained because he… he was afraid.

Afraid of moving on, as Sammy had done. Of finding something in life worth living for. Not only because it was hard, but because it was risky. What was he supposed to do, pack up his apartment and just… follow Cas to Chicago? The idea seemed simple enough, but he knew it wasn't. Nothing was ever that easy. After all, what would he even do when he got there?

Get a job? Or live under Cas's support until he did? No, he couldn't do that – be obligated to someone else that way.

He knew what Sammy would say – " _Go back to school._ " Somewhere deep down, buried in all the places he didn't want to look, he knew he should. That it was the only way he'd ever make something of himself. But he hadn't been in school for over ten years. Sure he had his high school diploma, but what would he really remember? Could he even do that… anymore…?

What colleges were there in Chicago?

And how would he pay for something like that?

Staring down at the snow, he felt his whole chest tighten, his eyebrows smashing together fiercely as he pulled and pushed himself, attempting to figure it out. Because… what if things with Cas didn't last? He hadn't been in a serious relationship, well, ever. And if they couldn't go the distance, where would he be? In Chicago, alone? He'd never even been to a city like that – one that big and… daunting.

It was terrifying, really, and his whole body seemed to shiver with the nerves of the idea.

But Cas…

 _He_  couldn't stay in Burr. That was completely out of the question.

"Dean?" He hadn't even noticed Cas turn back to look at him. Those blue eyes could see it however, despite sometimes being unaware of the feelings of others – the battle Dean was fighting within himself. It allowed Cas to hope, for the first time, that maybe there was a chance. Because Dean wasn't simply disregarding him, he was actually considering it. He was thinking about going to Chicago with him.

Just like that. After only being together a few days and he was actually thinking of picking up his life and moving. For Cas.

"You… you'd like it there," Cas jumped in, hoping to try and sway him while he could. "It's not like Burr, and there's always something to do, something going on. And… and you could… you could get a job there. Or-or even go to school, if you wanted." Their minds were rehashing the same issues, Dean's hesitant green eyes coming up to meet Cas's blue. "I went to school there, so I could help you. And I know lots of people. It… it wouldn't be bad. And you could… you could live with me, until you found your own place." The words were tumbling out of him uncontrollably – fueled by desperation perhaps – and he reached out, taking Dean's hand in his own once again. "Or if you just wanted to live with me, that would be fine." Whatever he wanted. So long as he was there, the details didn't matter to Cas.

"I don't know," Dean was shaking his head, looking back to the snow again. "People don't just… move their entire lives on a whim Cas. It doesn't work that way." Besides, he didn't want to be that guy who relocated his entire existence just to be with someone else. That wasn't healthy, right?

Well, perhaps it all depended upon the kind of life he'd actually be giving up and gaining in turn.

"It could…" Cas tried to reason, though he knew he wasn't convincing. Mostly due to the fact that, well, Dean was right. "People"  _didn't_  just do such things. Thought was required, and planning. And certainty. "Dean I…" Cas gulped. "I don't… want to lose you. Not now." Those green eyes came back up, Dean seeing that, despite his attempts to convince him, Cas was just as scared as he was. Just as uncertain. Yet just as wanting. They weren't teenagers anymore – their parents couldn't stop them from acting so foolishly. There was no one there to dissuade them otherwise. This was completely up to them; a decision all their own.

Which, perhaps, made it all that much more intimidating.

"Cas," Dean shook his head, forcing himself to see rationally despite how his heart willed against it. "We barely know each other." A fact whether they felt that way or not.

"So what?" Cas asked, still riding the desperation train in an attempt to convince him. "Why does any of that matter?" He knew why it mattered. There was evidence in his own actions, his own  _lies_ , that made it clear why it mattered. "There's nothing here for you Dean, you know that just as well as I do. There's no reason for you to stay."

"Cas, I grew up here."

"So  _what_?!" he tried not to get too worked up, Dean's eyes widening in surprise. "What will you do here? Just keep… working at Bobby's shop forever? Until you grow old and die?" Harsh maybe, but true. "You could do better, I know you could."

"No Cas, you don't know," Dean objected, fully aware that his words stemmed solely from fear. "You don't know me. You don't-"

"I do!" Cas insisted, scooting across the snow until he was sitting directly in front of the other man, both his hands now gripping Dean's. "I do know," he said firmly, as though his own determination was strong enough to make it so.

And Dean, expression tight, found it difficult to somehow disagree. Because, even if he was afraid, he didn't want that fate either, the one Cas spoke of. He didn't want to simply live in Burr with nothing to show for himself. If he went with Cas, no matter how things turned out, then at least he'll have tried, right? That had to count for something.

There had to be meaning in it all somewhere.

"Dean, please…" Cas murmured, those blue eyes piercing. "Come with me."

Take a chance.

"Cas!" Anna's voice hit them both as though whiplash, the two having to take a moment to gather themselves before blinking and turning to look at her. She was jogging across the snow toward them, her phone held in her hand as she did.

"What?" Cas asked once she'd reached them, able to detect a hint of anxiety in her expression.

"I just got a call from Naomi," she explained through huffing breaths, Cas furrowing his eyebrows before realizing that he must have left his phone at home when he'd been ushered out of the house. Which meant that, since his parents were familiar enough with both Balthazar and Anna, she'd be the next one who'd get a call.

"What is it?" Cas asked again. "Did something happen?" Because there was clearly still apprehension pumping through her, which told him it wasn't just a regular, run-of-mill checkup call.

For a moment, his stomach dropped with the possibilities. That his mother had told his father, or that he'd somehow figured it out.

Before he could fully realize such fears however, Anna made all clear.

"It's Michael," she gulped, looking straight at him. "Michael's here."


	13. Take Me To Church

"Wh-what?" Cas stuttered, his blue eyes wide as his body went numb, and not because of the snow.

"Michael," Anna repeated tightly. "Naomi said that he just showed up at your house looking for you." She refused to allow her eyes to turn to Dean, afraid that she might give something away unintentionally. Not to say she agreed with what Cas had been doing, but it wasn't her place to reveal it either.

"Who's Michael?" Dean asked, quite clueless as he looked to Cas, who was still sitting in the snow directly in front of him. He didn't get an immediate response, Cas's natural mindset never allowing for such smooth a recovery. Head twitching in Dean's direction, he took in that innocently curious look and said the only safe thing that came to mind.

"He's just a friend," he blurted,  _lied_.

"Oh, like Anna and Balthazar," Dean determined, as it was kind of odd that random friends of Cas's would just show up at his parents' house for the holidays. But it had been determined that they, Anna and Balthazar, were there because Naomi and Jim had gotten to know them so well when they'd gone up to visit their son.

"R-right," Cas agreed, stuttering somewhat. His whole body felt chilled, nauseated even, and his thoughts had come to a screaming halt as he considered what he was supposed to do. He was stuck at the park with Dean, since the other man had driven, which meant that the Impala was the only way he could get home (or walk, but they'd gone quite a ways). And at this point, he couldn't just dismiss Dean somehow and stop him from coming inside. No, he'd definitely come in, if only to meet Michael (because he was social like that).

Well, if his father was still home, then that was his best defense. Because Michael wouldn't act on him with both his parents there, and Dean wouldn't with Jim. Yet his father would be heading back to church soon.

If he had to get back, now was the time – in the hopes that he could somehow get the two separated before anything was said.

"We should go back," he determined, his voice even flatter than usual in his attempts to remain calm. "It would be rude not to."

"O-okay…" Anna nodded, not entirely sure what Cas was planning (which, well, he really wasn't), but supposing it was better to just let him go. At least for now. She knew her friend could be rather socially inept, which meant she saw this likely ending badly, but she didn't know what to do either. Michael wasn't supposed to be there. So why had he come all that way?

"Sure," Dean agreed easily enough, though he did eye Cas a little questioningly. Because Cas, of all people, wasn't going to be an expert at hiding anything. But Dean, silently, was able to attribute it more to having to go home and potentially see his father than anything else.

That's what he told himself.

Both standing, they wiped off what snow they could, their pants already damp and likely to become more so once they got in the car. Anna waved down Balthazar, and Dean did the same to Sam and Ruby, a shorter man coming along with them as they noticed the new car parked in the lot.

"Oh, this a Gabriel," Dean mentioned somewhat sourly as the trio came over. "He's Sam's old high school buddy." Longer, flipped back copper hair and mischievous eyes, he smirked at Dean, who seemed to glare back.

"Always nice to see you too," he mentioned, Sam pursing his lips. Apparently Dean didn't approve. Not that Gabriel seemed to care. Instead, his gaze fell to Cas, who'd said nothing upon meeting. "You're Castiel Novak," he determined. "I remember you."

"We attended church together," Cas verified with a nod, though his nerves definitely weren't in any shape to be having small talk.

"Raphael said he'd seen you," Gabriel continued. "Said you broke his wrist." Dean was on guard now, Cas too despite the news he'd previously received, but Gabriel only laughed to himself, Sam at a loss for what to say – be it in defense of his friend or not. "Chill out," he issued. "Raphael is an asshat. He probably deserved it."

"Since when do you hang around with Raphael?" Dean asked, arms crossing over his chest. He eyed Gabriel suspiciously, but no number of his looks had any affect on the younger man, as was per usual.

"Since when do you make a habit of fondling Castiel Novak?" he countered, Dean's lips pursing as Cas's blue eyes widened some. The hostility within the group shot up considerably, Sam reaching out, as if to get between Dean and Gabriel, but his high school friend waved him off. "No need to get defensive boys," he rolled his eyes, expression going bitter. "I'm not going to run off to Raphy and tell him what I saw happening down by the pond. Though Dean, I hadn't realized you were into dicks."

"I am going to fucking kill you, I swear," Dean muttered threateningly.

"Okay!" Sam clapped his hands together, smiling awkwardly before releasing a sigh. "It looks like you guys were heading to the car," he gritted his teeth as he looked to his brother, "so Ruby and I are going to stay here and hang out with Gabriel, alright?"

"Sure…" Dean agreed, though he was still eying Gabriel. "Say one word to anyone…" The threat was apparent.

"Don't worry about it," Gabriel replied, his eyebrows rising in that snarky manner he was notorious for. "What you and Castiel do behind closed doors is none of my business." He and Dean stared at each other a while longer – challengingly – before Dean growled and gave in. Turning to the parking lot, he continued on his way across the snow, Anna and Balthazar following after. Castiel eyed Gabriel a second longer, as if asking him to keep his mouth shut, and the response he got as an accepting shrug.

Supposing that would have to do, he pulled away lastly, jogging up after Dean as his worries about Michael came flooding back.

"What was that about?" Balthazar asked once they were pulling out of the park, his question obviously directed at Dean.

"Gabriel's a little prick," Dean replied shortly, still peeved. The silence following seemed to imply Balthazar wanting more, which caused Dean to scowl. "I just never liked that guy. Always gettin' around in other people's shit. But Sam seems to like him, so whatever."

"That… was not the good story I was looking for," Balthazar stated.

"My apologies," Dean huffed in over extravagance.

"So why are we leaving?" Though Cas and Dean couldn't see it, Balthazar had looked over at Anna from his position in the back seat as he'd posed his question.

"Michael's here," she explained, Dean looking into his rearview mirror to see the way Balthazar's eyes had widened before slowly dragging away. No words were spoken, Dean narrowing his own gaze but deciding not to comment. Instead, he forced his attention to Cas, who was sitting quietly looking out the window.

"Who is this Michael guy?" he asked gruffly, his tone directed at his "boyfriend." "You haven't talked about him before."

"He's just a friend," Cas replied without even bothering to look over.

"Were your parents expecting him?" Like they had Anna and Balthazar.

There was a momentary pause before Cas replied. "Yes," he decided.

"Oh…" Dean was staring out at the road, quite unsure of what to think of the thick barrier Cas had thrown up between them. Invisible as it was, Dean still felt as though he could cut it with a knife. "No one ever mentioned him…" Coming that was.

"I wasn't aware that you were privy to every plan I had made for my visit here," Cas replied a little too snappishly, both Anna and Balthazar pursing their lips at his lack of tact. Dean had raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing more on the apparently touchy subject. Instead, he let Cas's attitude stew, which might not have been in the best interests for either of them.

With a stifling silence hanging over them all, Dean eventually made it back to the Novak's. Cas said nothing as he exited the car, not even bothering to look back at his companions as he headed for the front door. Mostly, he was fretting over the fact that his father's car wasn't in the drive any longer. And if his father was gone, then there was nothing to stop Dean from touching or speaking to him in ways Michael wouldn't likely appreciate.

He was going into this blind, which might have justified some of his haste.

Not even bothering to remove his shoes (he saw Michael's were sitting by the entrance), he practically closed the door in Dean's face as he headed through the house, searching for not even he knew what. It was all such a blur – confusion and uncertainty. What would he do? What would he say?

Not that he was giving himself much time to think about it. Practically skidding to a halt once he'd reached the dining room, he spotted Michael there, sitting and speaking with his mother in all his Grecian, marble beauty. They'd both heard him come in however and were in the middle of turning mid-conversation to meet him.

Like always, Michael was dressed in a well-tailored suit, his fashionable blonde hair set back gracefully.

"Cas!" A smile broke out across that incredible face as he said his name, Cas abruptly conflicted. Everything with Dean had been happening so fast, and it'd been so amazing, but seeing Michael standing there in front of him was like having his wings ripped away and falling back to earth. It reminded him that before he'd entered the twilight zone that was Burr, Kansas, he'd had a life. A good one. With a great boyfriend. Three years strong and he'd… he'd cheated without a second thought.

What did that say about him? And his relationship?

The guilt weighed on him heavily. How heavily, though, not even he knew.

As he tried to find his words however, he immediately regretted telling Dean that they'd been expecting Michael. It was going to be made quite obvious that he'd lied. As if things were beginning to unravel around him.

"You're here," Cas stated ambiguously, his tone one of surprise.

"Yeah," Michael was smiling, though he did chuckle slightly at the look of shock on his boyfriend's face. Behind, Anna, Balthazar, and Dean had walked in as well, two appearing pale and uneasy while the last wore his typical lax expression. He was quieter however, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I was… passing through the area," Michael looked to Naomi only quickly, "and thought I'd drop by."

Lie verified, Dean's eyes narrowing only quickly. Because Cas had already told him Michael had been expected. And knowing this as well, Cas felt his chest tighten, unable to look back and meet those green eyes. That, and Michael's own lie was completely obvious. No one simply "passed through" Burr. There was nowhere around it that couldn't be reached by more efficient means.

"Michael was saying that you and him are really good friends," Naomi interjected, though he blue eyes were flicking between Cas and the newcomer, as if she too could sense the lopsided energy wafting all around them. "I'm surprised you've never introduced us." When she and Jimmy were in Chicago on holiday.

"I'm usually with family during the holidays," Michael explained, knowing Cas's yearly schedule. "There wouldn't have been a chance." Naomi nodded, her blue eyes darting again to Cas. And then to Dean before going back to Michael.

"Well… you're here…" Cas had no idea what to say.

"Yeah…" Michael laughed a little more, an awkward silence falling on the group. Michael was, if anything, a smooth socialite, so he easily conquered it, his curiosity soon drawing him to the only other person in the room he'd yet to meet. "Who's this?" he looked back to Cas.

"This is…" Cas turned around, as if to face Dean, but still couldn't bring his eyes up to meet whatever look was being cast his way. "This is Dean Winchester," he nodded. "We… went to high school together." In a normal situation, he should have introduced Dean as his boyfriend. His father wasn't there, his mother knew, and any friends he had in Chicago would be aware of his sexuality. That he would deter to such an out of the way introduction was odd.

More unraveling.

"Hi," Michael stepped forward and held out his hand for Dean to shake, which he did. "Michael Coranel, nice to meet you." Their handshake was short and firm, like any handshake between men was expected be. Yet as they stood before one another, Cas couldn't help noticing the differences between them. Michael was taller, broader, than Dean. His features were less worn and more inviting. Dean was rough around the edges, his holy jeans and old leather jacket contrasting greatly with Michael's prim and proper suit. "So you two were friends in high school?"

"You could… say that…" Dean replied stiffly, able to sense as well as anyone the heaviness to the atmosphere, unsure what he should say. He wasn't stupid however, he knew something was wrong. And were he less invested in what was happening, he might have had the guts to guess. But, as it were, he tried to avoid doing so.

Naomi found it odd, however, that Cas hadn't introduced Dean as should have been proper, which led her to the only conclusion that was glaringly obvious right in the middle of the room. Her eyes widened slightly, her gaze tripping to her son in both shock and confusion. But what was a mother supposed to think about such a thing? What her son had been doing?

"You know," Michael's expression became abruptly curious, "I've seen you somewhat before…" He was looking at Dean, who raised his eyebrows but didn't comment. "Cas, he… he's painted you, hasn't he?" Because Michael would have been one of the few people to have seen the Dean painting, what with the fact that he and Cas  _lived_  together. "I… hadn't realized you were a real person…" He turned to Cas. "You'd said you made him up."

"I… thought I… had…" Cas lied, Michael finally beginning to zero in on the strange attitude of the room. Because Cas's response made absolutely no sense. His gaze flicked to Dean again, who had pursed his lips, before going to Anna and Balthazar. The two weren't helpful in the least, their stares trained on the floor.

"Am I… missing something here?" Michael looked back to Cas, his question far more complex than it should have been.

Cas gritted his teeth and tried to think of something to say. Instead, he only made things worse. Perhaps that was the only direction things could go however. "What are you doing here Michael?"

"I thought I told you…" he replied, his gaze once again going to Naomi. The way she looked away and rubbed her cheek, her expression one of avoidance, spurred him to step a little further than perhaps he'd intended. "You've seemed really distracted lately," he started slowly, looking again to Cas, "and I was worried. So I thought I'd… see what was going on…" Perhaps he'd thought it'd be a nice surprise, coming to see his boyfriend. Pretending to be just a friend for his parents, but there to help him with whatever stress had been bombarding him lately. "You've barely been answering my calls…"

No, that was definitely not something mere "friends" would say.

"I've been busy," Cas snapped unintentionally, elevating the atmosphere further.

And Dean wasn't going to listen anymore.

"Ah, you know," Dean smiled shortly, the expression coming off as bitter as he gestured back to the door. "I'm gonna… go." His self-dismissal finally did draw Cas's eyes, but his back had turned already. "See ya." He didn't direct his farewell to anyone in particular, instead bee-lining it straight for the door before his chest could explode.

He needed to get away.

"Dean!" Cas called after him too late, his voice echoing with the clicking of the front door. He knew his hand had reached out, but his fingers slowly pulled into a fist when it became apparent Dean was gone.

His world froze then, if only for a few moments, while his thoughts rushed and beat around inside his head. He knew, as he stared at the spot where Dean had been standing, that this was it. This was the time when he'd be forced to choose. He could either turn back to Michael and give some kind of excuse for Dean's odd behavior, one his mother would keep quiet on as well as his other friends, or go after Dean. Because he knew, in but those few seconds, that if he didn't go after him, Dean would be walking out of his life forever.

But if he took the chance on Dean, he was leaving Michael's security behind. Michael, who'd been living with him for the last two years and who he'd met in a business meeting three prior. They'd been happy, he'd thought. Living the life Cas had always wanted. Away from Burr and everyone there; the past and the pain of it.

Or he could chase down Dean, get on his hands and knees, and grovel for forgiveness. And potentially lose both of them. Was it worth it, what he felt with Dean? Being with him created more complications. He had to deal with the past, and their living situation, and Burr. Dean's own insecurities about who he was and what he was doing with his life. But when he was with him, with Dean, he was… happy. Cas was happy.

He was happy with Michael too, but it was a different kind of joy. Michael was part of the plan. He was what Cas had been working toward his whole life. There was an image of what he'd wanted his life to be that Cas had put together when he'd moved out of Burr. It was a painless, easy kind of happiness that blinded him into ignoring the real issues. Like his parents. And the scars from high school.

Michael was an escape. And Dean…

Dean was everything else.

He  _was_  everything.

"Cas…?" Michael's smooth, perfect voice stabbed into his thoughts. "What's… going on?"

"You shouldn't have come here," Cas said coldly, his arm falling to his side. He didn't see the way Michael blinked in surprise at his tone, or how Naomi, Anna, and Balthazar looked at each other. But it was coming, the truth, Cas could feel it welling up inside him like vomit.

"I was worried about you Cas," Michael said a little defensively. "You weren't returning my calls."

"If I'd wanted to speak with you, I would have," Cas said a little too harshly as he finally turned and looked at Michael again. The affect of his words, the hurt they splashed across Michael's face, simmered him a little. Yes, he wanted to go after Dean, but Michael didn't deserve what he'd done to him. If he was going to be honest, the least he could do was be as gentle about it as possible. And give the person he'd hurt the due attention they deserved. Even if that meant letting Dean get further away. Because if he didn't, he'd be left with even less integrity than he already had.

"I'm sorry Michael," he started honestly, his blue eyes falling to the floor. "I didn't mean to be so harsh."

This seemed to remedy some of the pain he'd inflicted, but only enough for Michael to gather his wits. "Cas…" he shook his head. "What's going on?"

Those blue eyes came back up, Cas supposing there was no point in trying to hide the truth. He let it spell out across his face, even if Michael couldn't read what it meant. And though his heart fluttered, he knew it was with nerves and not regret.

"Michael," he sighed, his breath shaky, "I… I have to tell you something." Naomi, Anna, and Balthazar all gaped, their breath catching. Because he was going to do it, right then and there. And they didn't quite know what they should do. "I… I've been…"

"What?" Michael asked, his tone dry. As if he knew that whatever was to come next wasn't good.

"I… I have…" Cas pursed his lips once, forcing himself to face it. "I cheated on you."

Silence.

"W-what?" Michael managed to stutter out after a few seconds, his eyes blinking as his expression dropped. Disbelief was spread there, as if he were still trying to digest the words. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Cas, ashamed of himself, upset, and hurt as well, looked down at the ground. Because he had loved Michael, and now he was destroying all they'd built together. It was heartbreaking, even if he'd done it to himself. "I've been involved with someone else… while I was here."

"Involved?" Michael asked, his voice thin and strained. "What do you mean? What happened? What did you do?" Because Michael loved Cas, he did, and he wanted an escape from this. He wanted to know everything so that, when Cas admitted to what he thought was cheating, they could both laugh away the absurdity. Because Cas wouldn't cheat on him – he wasn't that kind of person.

"Michael…" Cas shook his head, meeting that stricken gaze again. "You don't…"

"What did you do?" Michael asked again, his eyes darting to where Dean had been standing some minutes before. "With him?" No need for a name. "Did you kiss him? Who is he?"

"Michael," Cas really didn't want to make this worse than it already was. "It's not… please don't make me say it. You don't want to hear it."

"Did you kiss him?"

"I…" Cas sighed. "Yes."

"And?" Was there more? How far had he gone? "Tell me Cas."

"Michael-"

"I deserve to know!"

Pause.

"I'm sorry Michael," Cas could feel tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm so sorry…"

"You slept with him…" Michael breathed, his head shaking as he stumbled back some, his hand reaching out and gripping the dining room chair he'd been sitting in prior. He was so shocked, and so hurt, that he wasn't sure he could stand on his own. "Why?" He searched Cas's face, those features suddenly foreign to him.

"I don't…" Cas shook his head. "I…"

"Were you drunk? Were you…?" Was here some kind of excuse?

"No Michael…" Cas forced his tears to remain unseen, feeling as if, perhaps, he didn't even deserve to have them in the first place. "I… chose to sleep with him. There was no other influence. I did it. I did it all." Everything was his fault.

"But…  _why_?" Michael just couldn't understand it. "Who is he?"

"We went to school together," Cas shook his head. "He was… Michael, please, you don't want to hear this." But still that look of necessity was there. Because Michael had to understand it. "He and I… I was… He was the first person I ever… fell in love with." Someone from his teenage years that Michael knew had hurt him and that he'd never been able to be with. Someone he'd referenced in memory, but that they'd both thought would remain there.

Because that, no matter how hurt he was, Michael could understand. Someone Cas had always wanted, but never gotten. An act of passion spurred by old high school dreams and fantasies. It wasn't the worst. It wasn't…

"Why was he here with you?" Michael asked then, his brain slowly pulling the ends together. If it'd been only an act of passion, a one-night stand, then Cas wouldn't have walked into his parents' house with him, or had this "Dean" hanging around with his friends. "How many… how many times have you…"

"Michael…"

"How many times have you slept with him?!" Almost a shout. And because he was wrong, Cas knew honesty was the only thing he could offer. He'd done this to Michael, betrayed the one person he was supposed to protect, which meant he didn't have the right to hide what had been happening. Not if the victim of his acts asked.

"The… the last few days…" he admitted shakily. "Every… every night." His face burned with his shame, with having to admit to such terrible things. "I'm sorry…" Because now he'd made his intentions known. He'd gone back. Again and again he'd gone back and done it over and over and over. That was the worst. His intentions. That was what made it unpardonable.

"Oh my god…" Michael was trembling, finally having to sink down in the chair as his legs weakened. "I can't…" His head was shaking. "I can't even…"

"I'm sorry," Cas offered again. "I am sorry Michael." Yet there was a "but" lingering in his speech, even if he never said it. His actions spelled it out as well as his words. He was sorry for hurting Michael, but he wasn't sorry for doing what he had. He didn't regret sleeping with Dean, or how his feelings had developed for the other man. He regretted not breaking up with Michael as soon as it'd happened – that was what he regretted. Because if he had, this… mess… wouldn't be folding out before him.

Michael looked as though he was going to be sick, tears having formed in his own eyes and were rolling unhindered down his cheeks. His hand was on his chest, as if his heart was breaking at that very moment. And if Cas were a better person, if he were decent at all, maybe his heart might have broken a little too. It ached, but not because he thought he'd lost something. It did so out of sympathy. Because he'd hurt someone in the worst possible way and there was nothing he could do to make it better.

Dean too, he'd hurt, and upon his thoughts running across that fact, he felt his heart tug toward the door. Dean was still getting away.

Michael deserved better, he really did, but Cas had made his choice. He'd done the damage and the self-centered, human side of him was screaming that he'd finished what he had to, he'd been honest, and now had to chase down what he'd done it all for.

Dean. He had to catch Dean.

"I'm sorry Michael," he took a step back, his nerves beginning to spark in fear that he'd messed up too badly – that he'd killed his chance with Dean, whatever little chance he'd had. "I'm sorry." Another step back. "So sorry."

"But why?" Michael had looked back up at him. "Why did you…?"

"Because…" Cas shook his head, the words forming out of his own panic at the truth of them. "I love Dean more." He shook his head. "I love him more." The realization hit him just as fiercely as it did everyone else in the room, the bare understanding of it making him feel naked and exposed.

And afraid.

He couldn't waste any more time. Shaking his head, he glanced to his friends and his mother, as if silently asking them to deal with the rest of this. Because if he didn't move, he was going to lose it all. His mother reached out to him, as if to stop him, but he shied away from her.

Turning on his heel, he ran to the door, pulling it open and ignoring how the chilled, winter air slammed into him. The snow was falling heavily now, making visibility questionable, but Cas didn't care. He ran out to the sidewalk, his feet carrying him, panic-stricken, in the direction he knew would take him to Dean's apartment. The snow fell and flecked off his face, chilling it with the tiny pinpricks that soon numbed any feeling. He ignored it all however, sprinting continuously until he was crossing the empty street under the clouded, darkening afternoon and rushing up the drive to Dean's apartment. Shaking he was so out of breath, and covered in snow, he'd taken note of the Impala parked outside before hastening to the stairs. Clamoring up the metal steps, he soon hit the little landing that led inside.

Whisking his way in and walking briskly down the hall, he blinked his eyes into focus, because it was darker inside than out, before heading around the corner and to the door he'd become quite accustomed to the last few days. Huffing and shivering, he raised his hand and knocked.

"Dean?!" he asked loudly, still somewhat panicked.

There was no response.

"Dean, please!" he begged, uncaring at all for who might hear him. "Please! Let me explain!" He knocked again, ignoring how his throat hitched painfully. "I'm sorry Dean, please!" His deep voice faltered, unaccustomed to such desperation and emotion. "Dean…"

Abruptly, the door cracked open. That was as far as it got however, as if abandoned in anger or disgust. And Cas, who was more than willing to do anything to make up for what he'd done, pushed it open and prepared himself to take whatever it was that he deserved.

Dean's back was to him, walking into the kitchen bare foot and angry, his hands eventually landing on the dishes he'd been washing in the sink, arms and shoulders moving in irritated jerks. He said nothing, Cas left to stand silently on the other side of the apartment as he closed the door. Surveying the carpet for a moment, he felt some of the snow drip off his coat, his shoes covered in little water droplets.

Should he take off his shoes? It seemed suddenly important whether he should or not.

"What are you doing here Cas?" Dean asked, as if the silence were too bloated for him to take anymore. "Go home."

"Dean, please," Cas was already begging. "Let me explain."

"Explain what?" Anger igniting his figure, Dean turned to face him, bubbles from the sink spraying to the side as he did. "You lied to me. To my  _face_." He shook his head, his fingers dripping.

"I know," Cas admitted, forgetting about his shoes and stepping a little further into the apartment. "I'm sorry Dean, I shouldn't have. I was just… confused, and panicking, and-"

"You have a boyfriend," Dean stated, his tone growling. "Do you know how… stupid I feel? What did it even mean, what we said to each other last night? Do you have any idea how much it took for me to… say something like that?" To claim Cas as his, which was made all the worse now because it'd never been true.

"I know Dean," Cas said shakily. "I meant everything I said. I know that I didn't tell you about Michael, but-"

"Do you know what this makes me?" Dean's face was pale, tight, and his breathing was heavy. "I'm now the… 'other woman.'" For lack of a better term. "If I'd known you had a boyfriend Cas, I wouldn't have slept with you." Because he had standards, dammit. He'd slept around, sure, but not with married women, or women with boyfriends. "You should have  _told_  me!" So maybe he wouldn't have gotten into this mess.

"I was going to break up with him," Cas admitted, trying to make things right. "I just… Everything between us was happening so fast and I wasn't sure what… what we were doing until…" Until he'd been faced with reality and forced to make a choice. Maybe he was still lying a little. He told himself he'd been going to break up with Michael, but, truth be told, it wasn't until the choice had been forced to be made that he'd finally decided. Because a small part of him had still doubted Dean.

"It doesn't matter Cas," Dean said through gritted teeth. "I…. trusted you. I told you how difficult it was for me to trust people. God dammit Cas, I told you…" He shook his head, his hand going to his forehead in frustration. And hurt. And betrayal. "If you'd been honest with me from the beginning…"

"Dean, that's not fair," Cas said brokenly. "If I'd told you before any of this had happened that I had a boyfriend, you wouldn't…" They wouldn't even be together. Because Cas wouldn't have given up on Michael for the farfetched idea of Dean and Dean wouldn't have given him a chance. Sometimes he still had trouble believing what had happened.

"You still lied Cas! You lied just a little while ago! Why? Why didn't you just tell me that 'hey, Michael's my boyfriend from Chicago that I haven't broken up with yet.' I'd still be pissed, but at least you'd have been honest. Instead you… tried to keep hiding it!" Which was only adding insult to injury.

"I panicked Dean, I'm sorry," Cas said again. "I'd planned to have Michael out of the picture before you ever had to find out about him."

"Oh," Dean raised his eyebrows. "So you were just  _never_  going to say anything."

"I didn't…" Cas saw how his words had failed to make him look any better. "I didn't think it'd be necessary that I'd have to. I didn't even know if you were going to want to stay with me. I was scared Dean, but if we were going to… be together, I was going to break up with Michael before you ever even… came to Chicago."

"So let me get this straight," Dean started flatly, quietly. "You were going to come here, sleep with me, and then if I broke up with you, go back to Michael as if nothing had happened?" Cas's mouth wavered. "That says a lot about you Cas. A lot that I don't think I like very much."

"That's not what I meant…"

"Then what did you mean?!"

"I don't know Dean!" He tried not to shout. "When I came to Burr I… I wasn't expecting to end up in bed with you. And it's all happened so fast. I barely had time to even comprehend what we were doing. Then we were talking about moving to Chicago and I just… I didn't have time…"

"You had plenty of time Cas," Dean objected. "You had plenty of time to tell me that even though we'd slept together, you had to break it off with someone else. You had plenty of time to call up that poor bastard and end it with him."

"I wasn't going to do it over the phone…"

"You've been cheating on him Cas! I don't think you could do much worse than that."

"We'd been together three years Dean," Cas defended somewhat. "I didn't want to-"

"Three years?" Dean asked.

"Yes…" Cas's eyes fell to the carpet again. "I couldn't just… break up with him over the phone. We live together. It's… more complicated than that."

"You live with him?" Dean asked, appearing paler if at all possible. "Cas, why…?" He was caught between being horrified that Cas would cheat and wondering how he should feel about it. After all, if Cas was going to cheat on someone after being with them so long, after living with them, what kind of a person was he really? Because… Dean really  _didn't_  know him that well…

Why had he allowed himself to trust him?

"Because Dean," Cas's breath shook. "You're… you. You're everything."

Dean shook his head.

"Because I never stopped loving you."

"You don't know me Cas," Dean closed his eyes. "And I don't know you." The way he said that last, however, sounded defeated, as if to reflect what had just happened, and Cas felt his heart break a little.

"Please Dean," tears fell. "I told him everything. I told Michael. We're as good as over. I realized it was you. You were the one I wanted. You've always been the one. Please, please don't do this."

"Get out Cas," Dean looked away, his own hurt unable to be masked.

"Dean,  _please_ ," Cas begged, taking a step forward. "This isn't the kind of person I am, I swear. I've never cheated on anyone before now. I wouldn't have unless…" Unless what? Unless Dean had meant something to him? But the first time they'd slept together, it'd been totally fueled by past desires and lusts, at least on Cas's part. It hadn't been thought through and he hadn't considered the consequences. He'd been rash and careless. But after, everything had changed. "Things are different now. I want  _you_  Dean. I've always wanted you." Since high school. He'd just never fathomed it was possible. If he'd known, years ago, that he could return to Burr and claim Dean for his own, he would have.

A thousand times he would have.

"Cas, you need to go," Dean continued to insist. "I can't deal with this right now."

"Dean, don't… I'll do anything…"

"I can't stand the sight of you Cas," he made firmly clear. "Get out."

"Dean…"

"Get out!"

And Cas, because he knew he was wrong – so very, very wrong – accepted that, perhaps, he was in no position to object. Backing up, he couldn't stop the flow of tears, but he was able to take control of his breathing. Not wanting to appear any more despicable, he silenced himself, taking his feet to the door. He turned back once to look at Dean, but those green eyes wouldn't see him.

He left, his heart breaking as he did.

Maybe… maybe if he just gave Dean some space…

How much would be required, however, neither of them knew. Dean, once again alone in his apartment, felt his legs shaking as he slowly sank to the floor. Leaning back against the kitchen cabinets, he stared up at the lights, his whole existence seeming to deflate as he did.

For a few moments – a few wonderful, glorious moments – he'd thought his life was turning around. He'd thought that, maybe, he'd found a reason to care again. That there was someone who cared about him and that he'd get a new start. Like some kind of unrealistic, romantic comedy ending.

But that was just the problem, wasn't it? He should have questioned it all from the start, how impossible it was. That he, of all people, would deserve something like that. No, he should have known better. He should have stopped it from happening. That was, what his feelings had developed into. It'd only been a few days, yet… yet his whole body felt like it was going to be ripped apart.

Why had he allowed himself to trust it, what had bombarded him during the last few days? He should have rejected it as his common sense had dictated. Then he wouldn't be feeling like this. Feeling so about someone he'd known was too good to be true.

Hand coming up to his mouth, his whole body shuddered with the heaviness of emotion that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in over ten years. He couldn't stop it, the tears that came or the way his throat shook with sobs.

How had he allowed Cas to do this to him?

Why did he have to feel so afraid?

None of his questions were answered however, the one person who might be able to help standing out in the hall in both shock and despair. For a moment, Cas didn't know what to do. Part of him simply wanted to sit down until Dean would see him again. He'd stay out in the hall forever if he had to, and he almost did do just that. Until, however, the echoing sounds of Dean's sobbing came out from under the door. Turning, Cas almost went back in, but knew that doing so would only make things worse. He was the cause of Dean's pain, of Michael's. Of his own. He didn't blame Dean for not wanting to see him; he wasn't even sure he'd be able to look at himself in the mirror.

Instead, riddled with self-loathing and wanting to throw himself off the nearest highway overpass, Cas backed away. Every echo of Dean's crying hit him like a punch to the gut and he nearly stumbled as he walked. Pushing his way back out into the chilly afternoon, he staggered down the steps and back out into the snow. He didn't even feel the cold anymore, too chilled himself to register the difference. His heart was on the edge, nearly ready to collapse. The only thing that stopped it was the thought – the hope – that maybe if he gave Dean some time, he'd be able to fix this.

He had to. He had to fix this.

Out on the sidewalk now, he paused, staring out into the road without any idea where he could go. Did he return home? Would Michael still be there? Or did he stand out in the snow and wait for Dean? He didn't know.

He didn't know anything.

And maybe he would have simply kept standing there without a clue as to what to do were it not for the car that drove by him. His father's car, which slowed upon being within range of him and rolled down the passenger side window.

"Castiel," his father said, peering up at him from within the car. "What are you doing? Are you alright?" Because he still had traces of tears on his face.

Slowly, he looked down, only a flicker of concern apparent in his father's eyes.

"I…" What was he supposed to say?

"Why don't you get in the car Castiel," his father issued calmly. "You look like you're freezing."

And what other choice did he have? What could he possible say? No? Because he'd rather stand out on the sidewalk outside Dean's apartment complex with a shocked, wide-eyed look on his face? No, not even his father, who dealt little in Cas's personal life, could allow that.

As if being moved by someone else, Cas reached down and pulled open the car door. Slipping inside, he didn't even bother buckling the seatbelt. Instead, he simply stared straight ahead, his father's eyes still watching him.

"I was on my way back home," Jim started after a moment, the car moving smoothly along the road.

"Weren't you just there?" Cas asked, his tone hollow and cold. Like an out of tune bass drum.

"Yes," Jim nodded. "But I've been given some… business to take care of," Cas didn't see the way his father's eyes twitched to the large, manila envelope sitting between them. "Confidential business." And still Cas failed to see the way his father's brows pulled together, only a flitting of curiosity crossing his expression.

"Oh…" was all Cas said in response, the remainder of the ride carried in silence. It wasn't until they were pulling up into the drive that Cas seemed to realize where he'd returned to. That inside, Michael, his mother, and all his friends were waiting. Yet the numbness holding him together didn't allow for him to do anything on the matter, his father exiting the car without pause. Doing the same at a slower, more habitual pace, Cas followed. They headed up the stairs, in through the door.

Jim carried that manila folder with him, the one Cas still failed to notice.

Shucking off his shoes, Cas's ears listened, but heard nothing. No, instead he watched as his mother came rushing around the corner, looking at them both with wide-eyed astonishment.

"You're back… so soon?" It wasn't clear which one of them she was speaking to.

"Yes, I… forgot something," Jim replied, passing her by without a second look and heading to his office. Naomi was far more concerned about Cas however, who was frozen just beyond the entranceway, his eyes focused on the floor.

Slowly, Naomi approached him, taking one of his hands in her own.

"Michael left," she whispered, her words finally managing to draw some of his attention. "Anna and Balthazar went with him. He was so broken up; they were worried about him going back to the airport alone. Anna wanted to stay, for you, but I made her go. I told her I'd be here for you. Oh Castiel, are you alright?" For though he had done terrible things, she was still his mother, and that came first.

"I don't know," he shook his head. "Dean, he… he won't speak to me. He doesn't want to see me. I don't know… I don't know what to do." A few more tears fell as he blinked, his mother's expression softening into one of sympathy as she squeezed his hand. "I shouldn't have lied to him. I shouldn't have…"

"Give him some time," she reasoned. "I'm sure there's a way you can make it up to him." And Cas wanted to agree with her, but every door at that moment seemed closed to him. Locked up tight and barring him from taking any action that might heal all the wounds he'd inflicted.

"What if he never wants to see me again?" he asked, hopeless and lost. "Mom," he shook his head. "He means so much to me…"

"It'll be okay," she assured blindly. "Just… you just have to have faith."

"Faith?" Jim had entered the room again, both Cas and Naomi glancing around to look at him. "Those who forsake God have no faith." He still held the manila folder in his hand, but there was something else there too. Photographs maybe? And his tone… it was harsher than Cas had ever remembered hearing it. Straighter, and without compassion.

"Jim?" Naomi questioned, Cas's hand still held in hers.

"Get away from him Naomi," he issued strictly and without feeling. "He is an abomination against God."

Despite the command however, Naomi didn't move, her expression one of shock and confusion as she peered between her son and her husband. The prior was slowly breaking out of his stupor, if only to hear his father's words, and the latter remained rigidly standing in the doorway, his fingers pulled into fists.

"Jim, what are you talking about?" Naomi asked a second later, though the alarm in her gaze gave away what she was really thinking. And Cas, who pulled his face up to look at his father, spotted the cold rejection etched into his features. "Why are you-"

"Naomi," Jim snapped. "You don't know what he is."

"He's my son," she stated. "That's all-"

"He's a homosexual," Jim made clear, his empty gaze aligned with Cas's own. "A sinner."

"Jim…" Naomi was shaking her head, unsure how she should be reacting.

"Raguel gave this to me earlier," Jim continued, holding up the envelope. "Told me to go home and look at it, that it wasn't something to be dealt with within the church walls." Raguel, his father's coworker. He was also Raphael's father. "I didn't understand at the time, but…" Closing his eyes as if it pained him to do so, he tightened his lips and rather viciously threw the envelope, as well as the photos, across the room. They landed, scattering some, at Cas's feet.

Hesitating for only a moment, both Cas and his mother glanced down at them, Naomi's hands dropping his to go to her mouth at what she saw. And Cas, crouching down and reaching out, allowed his fingers to sift through only a few, his heart seeming to rip at what he saw.

He knew exactly how the pictures had been taken. He'd stood by the very window in Dean's bedroom multiple times before. A window that had blinds, but that were broken halfway down. His apartment was on the second story however, and the bed far enough away, that Cas had never thought anything of it. Not even crossed his mind.

The photos were a bit blurry, as if taken with a low quality surveillance camera. But the apartment was clear to Cas, as well as the two people otherwise involved.

Cas wasn't sure what to feel – whether to be more offended that someone would spy on his most intimate moments or upset that these intimate moments were being shoved in his face, as if to remind him over and over of what he might never have again. Despite how his heart ached though, he was grounded enough in the situation to realize that it didn't matter, then, how he felt about Dean. What mattered was that there was evidence here, blatantly so, that revealed exactly what he was and what he'd done. Naked evidence, twined together in the sheets, bodies rubbing against one another with each shot that was displayed for his parents to see.

He closed his eyes.

"You and the Winchester boy," Jim started bitterly. "I wondered why he was suddenly hanging around here, but now I understand it. Now I see that you were bringing your sin into my home." He shook his head. "You're a disgrace."

"Jim…" Naomi didn't want to look at the photos, so she didn't, instead pulling her attention back up to her husband. "Don't do this," she begged. "Don't…"

"Enough Naomi," he silenced her, his gaze going from his son to his wife. "You knew about this," he deduced. "And you've kept it hidden from me." She looked about to interject, but he didn't allow it. "I understand why you did," he claimed, "but you cannot let your feminine sentiments cloud your judgment here."

His eyes went back to his son, that foreign harshness returning.

"The choice you've made offends not only those around you, but God as well," he tried to lecture, but Cas finally found his voice.

"Who are you to speak for God?" he asked, standing up once more and leaving the photos where they were. "I gave up my faith a long time ago." Before he'd even left Burr. "Whatever God you speak of, it means nothing to me." His speech even managed to shock his mother, who gaped. Jim, however, merely shook his head.

"You are lost," his father issued, as if it were an absolute certainty. "You forsake God willingly, and you will burn for it."

"I would rather burn for who I am than live under a god who imprisons me in something I'm not." Though he wasn't aware of it then, he was surprised at his own calm. In being able to keep his voice steady in confronting his father. But, perhaps, after a day of losing so many battles, he wasn't ready to give up another one. No matter how inevitable it may be.

"The devil is in you Castiel," Jim replied darkly. "Come back to the light – pray for forgiveness – or live in the filth of your sin forever. Do the first and I will do all in my power to help you, but take the second and you cripple yourself beyond what even I can help you with."

"Your 'help?'" Cas asked almost bitterly. "Your help sends young men and women to places of torture. Where they learn that, under God's eyes, they are to be ashamed of who they are. Your help is not something I want."

"Then you are  _not_  my son," he said rather sharply.

"Jim!" Naomi tried again.

"Enough Naomi!" Jim actually raised his voice, a phenomenon Cas had never witnessed before. "You would live in his presence as he sins, tainting your own faith? He has strayed  _too_   _far_! He is a shame upon us both, upon this house, and we cannot go on peacefully until he is gone from our lives forever!"

"He's our  _son_!"

"Our son is dead!" Jim looked directly at Cas again. "You are no child of mine."

Cas, his lips tight, his feelings destroyed, stared on at his father, daring him to continue. Daring him to say it.

"You will leave this house Castiel," Jim started, his voice shaking some. "You will leave, and you will  _never_  come back."

Castiel broke. Truly and honestly then, he broke.

Pulling his blue eyes from his father, he glanced again at the photos at his feet. At Dean, laid out on the bed beneath him, face pulled back in ecstasy. Hurting no one, shaming no one. Simply being as they were meant to. Yet it crumbled.

It crumbled all around him.

"Castiel…" his mother whispered his name, his eyes slowly coming up to meet hers. She was scared, he could see that, but this was his burden, not hers. Reaching out, he laid his hand atop her wrist, squeezing shortly and offering her the softest smile he could manage. The  _only_  smile he could manage.

"It's alright," he nodded.

Dropping his hold from her, he looked only once more to his father, to that cold, calculated stare, before turning fully and heading to the door. He'd stepped around the abandoned photos like broken glass, his feet taking him to his shoes at the entranceway. He slipped them on with easy, expert hands, his head never turning to look back as he pulled open the door. As he stepped out into the pure, clean, crisp winter storm and never looked back.

He felt oddly at ease as he slipped down the stairs and out into the glittering yard. Maybe it was because he'd known all along that his father would react in this way, and had so prepared himself. Or maybe it was because his feelings were so completely wasted that he didn't have energy left to feel at all anymore.

He'd lost it all. Like a tower with the bottom support pulled out, everything had come crashing down over his head.

What did he have left?

Chicago?

Yes, he could go back to Chicago. His mother would send his things. He could go home.

Home.

Alone.

Standing out at the end of the driveway, he looked first one way and then another. The road was clear, the snow accumulating. No one was out driving now. The weather had progressed for the worse, nothing visible beyond ten feet.

Stepping out into the street, Cas shuffled his feet along until, he reasoned, he was standing directly in the middle of the road. Stopping, he took a deep, chilled breath, one that shook his lungs and left again as a foggy cloud. Slowly, he lifted his head, looking to the sky. The snow fell in a flurry of white shadows against the gray clouds. It seemed never-ending – high definition nothingness. Reaching up, his hand interjected like a tan, red-rimmed intrusion, the snow flurrying around his fingers as if to avoid them all together.

Whenever a flake did happen to touch down however, it melted.

Destroyed.

"Hey."

Castiel blinked his ice-laden lashes and allowed his hand to fall to his side. Turning his head over his shoulder, he saw the silhouettes of not one, but five people, all of them dressed up in heavy clothing and staring directly at him.

"Guess I missed it," Raphael continued. "Too bad. I came all this way just so I could get a peep at what your father thinks of you now."

"You're very adept at spying, aren't you Raphael?" Cas asked, his tone even and controlled. "Tell me, did you like what you saw?"

"I'm no homo like you and Winchester," Raphael said coldly.

"Too bad," Cas looked back up at the snow. "Save a lot of women some misery."

"Watch it Novak," Raphael threatened. "I still owe you for breaking my wrist."

"You do, don't you," Cas agreed flatly.

"That all you got to say?" Raphael asked, his tone oddly uneasy.

"I don't have anything to say… anymore…"

"No, I bet you don't," Raphael chuckled, a few of his buddies mimicking. "Too bad. I like to hear 'em beg for mercy. 'Specially fags." He cracked his knuckles in a very Hollywood movie fashion, which Cas didn't see. Didn't  _care_  to see. "I'm gonna take you down a peg Castiel. You've gotten awfully high and mighty since you left. After I'm done with you, you're going to wish you'd never been born."

At first, Cas didn't reply to the threat, as if he was considering the words. In a few long seconds, however, they sank in. Looking back up to the sky, he watched the snowflakes as they plummeted to earth. As they twisted and turned before finally giving in, falling flat to the ground.

He watched them, and he laughed.


	14. When the World Falls

"Are you… alright?" Sam's voice slipped into his room, Dean looking up from where he was lying on the bed. His face had been submerged in the pillows, his eyes wide open as he rehashed what had happened that day. "You've been in there all night…" Which was odd seeing as he and Ruby were, technically, Dean's guests.

"I'm fine Sam," he droned out for the second time that evening. Was it so much to ask to just be left alone?

"Dean, I'm not stupid," Sam snapped back, growing irritated with his brother's attitude. "Would you just tell me what's wrong?" He didn't get a response, the lack of communication spurring him to bring up the subject he had, till that moment, been avoiding. "I'm surprised Cas isn't here."

"Fuck off Sam."

Yup, he was going in. Casting Ruby, who was sitting at the dining table, one single exasperated look, he reached down for the doorknob and pushed his way into Dean's room. He swore, sometimes, that his brother could be the epitome of a drama queen.

"Get out," Dean issued as soon as Sam had closed the door behind him. Dean was sitting up in bed, glaring at his younger sibling. Dressed in only a tank top and pajama pants, with a bag of potato chips on his end table, he appeared even more pathetic than Sam had anticipated. Besides, the apparent red marks running down his cheeks weren't exactly promising.

"What happened Dean?" Sam asked, not at all fazed by his brother's attitude as he made his way over and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. "You know you're going to tell me one way or another, so might as well make it as easy as possible." A lecture he gave his brother regularly to no effect.

This time, however, Dean didn't meet his pushing with a rebellious stare, as was usual. Instead, attention falling to the sheets, any sense of anger that had been etched into his face fell away to depression.

Sam was concerned, to say the least.

"Cas and I…" Dean started after a moment, his voice quiet. "We're… we're finished." Did "break-up" even justify what they'd been? With Michael in the picture, had they ever actually been together at all?

"What?" Sam was honestly surprised to hear as much. "Why? How?" Because Dean had seemed so happy earlier. And Cas too. What could have happened during the time he was with Gabriel to usurp their cloud nine status so efficiently?

"Turns out," Dean clicked his tongue bitterly, "that Cas had a  _boyfriend_  back in Chicago that he's been cheating on this whole time." The words were hard and disgusting even as they came out of his mouth, Dean's hurt feelings rising up again as he considered them.

"Oh…" Sam replied lamely, not exactly sure what to make of the news. Dean simply shook his head however, clearly defeated by the whole thing.

"I never should have trusted him," he claimed. "I should have known it was too good to be true."

"Don't say that Dean," Sam tried to comfort. "I saw him with you earlier. So… maybe he didn't tell you about someone he had in Chicago. That doesn't mean what he felt for you wasn't in earnest. Have you talked to him about it?"

"What's there to talk about Sam?" Dean asked sharply, looking back up at his brother. "He lied to me. To my face. And then this Michael guy shows up and…" He shook his head.

"Michael?" Sam asked. "That's the… boyfriend?" Dean didn't need to reply to verify the answer. "And he's here…?" Sam cringed, supposing that had probably been one of the most awkward situations ever. Not to say Cas hadn't deserved it if what Dean said was true. Sam was pretty easily able to look at things subjectively however, and didn't cast Cas off entirely, as Dean apparently was.

"What does that say about the kind of person he is?" Dean asked. "That he'd cheat on someone the way he cheated with me? You haven't been here. It was… heavy, and serious," he glanced back down at the sheets, fingering them in irritation. "I just don't understand why he wouldn't have told me."

"Dean, that's not… exactly fair…" Sam offered hesitantly and his older brother scoffed.

"That's what he said."

"Dean…" Sam scooted slightly back on the bed. "Let's be realistic here. You and Cas have only been together a few days. Almost a week, maybe," that was stretching it. "I mean, maybe he was cheating – and I'm not saying I advocate that – but I don't think it's quite that black and white. You two have been moving… really fast. Maybe he just didn't have the time to… end it with this Michael guy."

"How do you know he was even going to end it with him at all?"

"Well… wasn't he?" Sam asked, supposing Dean would know better than he did.

"I don't know," Dean snapped. "He said he was,  _did_ , end it, but…"

"So you have spoken to him about it," Sam determined. "What did he say? You said he ended it with his boyfriend. Did he do it so he could be with you?" His barrage of questions caused Dean to sigh and roll his eyes, Sam taking the hint before closing his mouth.

"He said that… that…" Dean didn't even know if he could repeat it. Perhaps because it was so huge, but also because… because considering that maybe it was true pained him considerably. "He said that he loved me. And that he broke up with Michael to be with me."

"Well then what's the problem?" Sam asked, not bothered by the whole "love" thing.

"The problem is that he lied to me!" Dean repeated, meeting his brother's gaze once again. "Like, really, I heard him do it. Right in front of me."

"When?"

"When he found out Michael was here."

"Dean…" Sam sighed. "He was probably panicking."

"Because he'd lied to me in the first place…"

"Okay," Sam agreed hollowly. "But it sounds to me like he lied for all the right reasons." At least where Dean was concerned. Probably not in that Michael guy's case, but Sam was hardly obligated to care about a stranger. "If you'd known he had a boyfriend, would you have even considered pursuing him?" Dean didn't answer. "And it'd be terrible to break up with someone over the phone, which would mean that Cas wouldn't have even been able to consider it until he'd returned to Chicago, at which point any chance he'd had with you would have been basically dead."

"I can't figure out if you're on my side here or his…" Dean replied childishly.

"He said he loved you, didn't he?  _Again_?" Sam shook his head. "What are you doing Dean? This guy has admitted that to you twice now. Ended a relationship for you. And you're just going to sit here and throw yourself a pity party? C'mon…"

"It's not that simple Sam," Dean ground out from behind gritted teeth. "He still lied and I…" He had trust issues, plain and simple.

"Dean, you have to take a chance."

"I did."

"No, you almost jumped and then backed out at the last minute," Sam countered. "What were you and Cas going to do when he had to go back to Chicago? Were you just going to let it end there? I'm not stupid Dean. You pretend like you trusted him, but you always had one foot out the door. Because you knew that, at the end of his visit, he was leaving. So he was safe. And this is just an excuse for you to validate that."

"He asked me to move to Chicago with him," Dean mentioned quietly, Sam pausing in his speech to raise his eyebrows in surprise. And a few seconds later he groaned in frustration, as if totally and completely fed up with his brother.

"Dean!" he moaned. "What are you  _doing_?" He covered his face with his hands momentarily and shook his head. "He asked you to move there with him? How much more certainty do you need? Even if he did have a boyfriend, it's not like he'd have been able to hide it forever. If he was asking you that, then I think his choice was pretty clear!"

"That doesn't explain why he didn't tell me," Dean tried to reason.

"Why should he have?" Sam asked straight. "This Michael guy has nothing to do with you. If you'd moved with him to Chicago and this boyfriend of his was out of the picture, you never even would have known." Dean looked up at him, as if to ask how any of this was supposed to make him feel better. "There's a reason, Dean, why when you're in a new relationship, you don't ask about previous partners. Because it's none of your business."

"He claimed I was his boyfriend when he already had one!"

"Yeah, and he had all of, what, a week to realize he wanted you instead and then end an entire relationship? Wow Dean, way to tighten those expectations." Sam rolled his eyes, no longer willing to be soft on his brother. "If this Michael guy hadn't shown up, I'm betting he would have ended it. And maybe he would have told you, and because it would have already been over with, you wouldn't have cared."

"Sam…" Dean was getting more and more frustrated. "What you're saying is great and all, you know, super helpful, but that's  _not_  what happened. He lied to me, I found out he lied to me, and it's bullshit."

"Did you ever ask him if he had a boyfriend?" Sam asked flatly.

"No…"

"Then he didn't lie to you."

"He did earlier about… something else. When we were headed back to meet Michael."

"Yeah, he probably did," Sam said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Let's see, he'd been on his way to go confront the boyfriend he hasn't had a decent amount of time to break up with yet accompanied by the man he's now found himself to be in love with. Hmm, yeah, I'd say most people would do some stupid things if put in that situation." He eyed Dean critically. "He's human Dean, a very… socially awkward human. He's gonna make mistakes just like everyone else. And no, he shouldn't have cheated on his boyfriend, but you said it yourself he broke up with him for you. That says a lot." He paused to take a breath. "You're just using this as an excuse to chicken out."

"No I'm not…" he objected, but Sam didn't look convinced. "Is it so bad that what he did bothered me?" Was he not allowed to feel hurt?

"It's not bad," Sam answered. "I don't blame you for being hurt, but it's not big enough to throw away what you had." Because even Sam had been able to tell it was good for him. "Sometimes Dean, when you want something, some _one_ , you have to fight for them. Not curl up and close your eyes at the slightest hint of difficulty."

"I am perfectly capable of fighting for what I want."

"No you're not," Sam disagreed harshly. "You give up, Dean. You accept your life as it is and refuse to look for anything better. It's why you never went to school, it's why you never left this town, and it's why you're now going to give up Cas. Because you'd rather plod along the easy path than take a chance on something that might be a bit more complicated.

"Fight for him Dean, if you want him. Screw that Michael guy. He picked you, didn't he? So take what's yours!"

Silent, Dean considered his words, eventually sighing as he shook his head. Were he in better sorts, had more energy, he might have had more snark to rebuke with, but, as things were, he was tired, exhausted, and all too willing to accept that his brother's words were right. Maybe it was because there was finally something at stake, something that actually depended on his actions. He'd never had an education, so he'd never had anything to give up. He'd never had anywhere to go, so he'd never left. But Cas…

Cas, even if for only a few days, it'd been  _his_  bed that he'd lain in. In  _his_  arms that he'd found refuge. Maybe a week – less than a week – was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it'd happened. Cas knew that and so did he. There was nothing, no one, that could deny that reality. Those times would always be between them, memories only they shared, and the only way they could possibly be lost was if they gave them up.

If Dean did.

Maybe he was mad, and hurt, and maybe he would be for a while yet. But did that justify losing Cas altogether?

Was that really what he wanted?

Atop his end table, the jarring sound of his phone vibrating interrupted his thoughts. Reaching over, he answered it, his greeting a little meaner than perhaps necessary. "Hello?"

"Dean?"

"Chuck?" Not who he'd been expecting, if he'd been expecting anyone at all. "How do you have my number?"

"What? I… I got it from Mrs. Novak."

"Why does Mrs. Novak have my number?"

"Because she has Cas's phone!" Chuck shouted, Dean raising his eyebrows in slight affront, but refraining from making any comment. "Now, please, is Cas with you?"

"Uh, no…"

"What? Really? I thought for sure he'd be with you…" Chuck seemed to mutter to himself. "Do you know where he is?"

"No…" Dean's eyes fell awkwardly to the side. "Cas and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now…"

"What? Are you serious?!" He was shouting.

"Dude!" Dean was getting fed up with his attitude. "What the hell is your problem?" Fricken' douche. Calls up his phone and then yells at him, and then acts like it's his fault!

"My  _problem_?!" Chuck sounded far too upset to care about being sworn at. "My 'problem' is that no one can fucking find Cas, that's my problem!" Dean raised his eyebrows in alarm, not having expected such a retort.

"What do you mean no one can find him?"

"Don't you know what happened?" Chuck asked, Dean's silence hinting that he didn't, which resulted in a sigh on the other line. "How are you so far behind? Didn't anyone tell you? Fricken' Cas's dad found out man. Found out that he's gay!" Dean's eyes popped open wide at that, his body tensing as he threw his legs over the side of the bed, as if that would somehow make him more attentive.

"What do you mean he 'found out?' What happened?" Dean asked, all seriousness now.

"I don't know the details," Chuck replied. "I'm hearing this, like, third hand. Sort of. From what Anna told me, Naomi told  _her_  that Jim basically disowned him before kicking him out of the house." Dean, his breath falling short, felt his face drain of all color, his mood sinking even further, if at all possible. "After that, I guess Mrs. Novak got into a huge fight with Cas's dad, so he left to go back to the church or something, which was when she called Anna."

"Anna and Balthazar weren't at the house when this happened?" Dean asked.

"No, they were taking Michael back to the airport," Chuck explained. "But anyway, Cas never came back home and now Mrs. Novak is, like, freaking out. She called Anna to see if she'd heard from Cas, and then Anna called me, and then I called Mrs. Novak, which is how I got your number. I think she wanted to call you herself, she's been calling everyone in his phone, but I volunteered to instead, so…"

"Okay…" Dean shook his head, casting his brother a curious look despite the fact that Sam didn't have any idea what was going on. "Cas doesn't want to talk to anyone then. He'll show up eventually." After all, it wasn't like he was a child or something. Granted, Dean was worried now, for Cas's emotional sake, but he wasn't going to go hunt him down.

"No Dean, we need to look for him," Chuck said it like he was stupid, to which Dean pursed his lips in offense. "You know  _how_  his dad found out about him?"  _Obviously_ , Dean didn't. "Somebody went snooping around your apartment snapping pictures of you two mid-fornication." Those green eyes popped wide. "Gave them to Cas's dad, which tells me, and anyone else in this homophobic town, that someone is out to hurt him."

"You think Cas is in danger," Dean determined seriously, his stomach twisting in abrupt apprehension. Beside him, Sam cocked his head to the side in curious concern, but said nothing.

"Yeah, I do," Chuck snapped. "Haven't you read any of those news reports about gays being harassed in towns like this? If someone is gutsy enough to  _spy_  on you two, then they're probably gutsy enough to do other things. And we all know Cas isn't going to think of that kind of thing." Which was true. Cas wouldn't put the pieces together. "Man!" Chuck swore under his breath. "I really thought he'd be with you…"

"You, him, and Samandriel have been friends since high school," Dean stated. "You know anywhere he would go?"

"No," Chuck said in frustration. "We weren't exactly the types to hang around the local gas station or something." More or less they'd stayed inside playing video games and comparing Magic cards. "We need to find him." Too bad he'd left his phone at home.

"Well, sitting around talking about it isn't going to help," Dean stood, as if set in action. "Have you guys called around to the local hotels or hospitals or anything?"

"No…"

"Well, start there," he ordered. "Sam and I will check with the police and see if there's been anything reported. Is Samandriel with you?"

"He's on his way over here," Chuck offered, clearing his throat and trying to sound as confidently commanding as Dean. "And Anna and Balthazar are on their way back." Dean was nodding to himself, soon at his dresser as he pulled out a pair of worn jeans.

"If we don't hear anything, we'll start looking ourselves," Dean established as he dropped his pajama pants and slipped on the jeans, not at all bothered by Sam. Who, in turn, wasn't bothered by him. "I'll call you back in a little while." Chuck agreed and, set in their mission, they hung up, Dean looking up at Sam as he buttoned his pants. "Cas is missing," he stated what Sam had already put together. "His dad kicked him out of the house after finding out he's gay and no one's heard from him since."

"You think something happened to him?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean shrugged. "Probably he just went off on his own to be alone or something, but…" he sighed, "I guess someone got pictures of him and I… you know…" he made a vulgar motion with his hand, "and gave them to his father." Sam cringed, not only for Cas's sake, but Dean's too. "And Chuck's worried that whoever was ballsy enough to do that might go after Cas directly."

"That… could be a valid concern," Sam agreed as he stood. "I'll call the police station. And, uh… I'll pretend to be someone else." Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "This town is full of homophobic assholes," he continued. "And you were in those pictures too Dean." His implication dropped down heavily, Dean pausing to realize that, just as Cas had been outed, he had been too.

He'd never planned for that. How far had word travelled, and to who?

"Right," he agreed roughly, his eyes falling to focus on the carpet. Pursing his lips sympathetically, Sam tried to think of something to say, but eventually decided that finding Cas would be the best comfort. Heading out of the bedroom, he went to the table where Ruby was sitting, his phone there beside his laptop. Sitting down, he quickly looked up the phone number for the station before dialing it and waiting. Aware of the serious atmosphere, Ruby glanced, first, to her boyfriend, who said nothing, before deferring her questioning look to Dean, who'd walked in and plopped down at the table as well.

"Cas is missing," he muttered to her, not at all anxious at revealing the news. He'd known the woman for a little over five years after all, which meant he'd grown quite accustomed to her presence.

"Yes, good evening," Sam had started into his phone, Ruby appearing all the more curious by Dean's vague explanation. "My name's Thomas Wayward and I was wondering if there's been any reports on…" What exactly was he looking for? "Violent crimes in the last afternoon?"

He listened to the response, Dean and Ruby watching his face for any kind of positive response. They didn't get one however, Sam's expression only darkening.

"Nothing's been reported all day?" he asked a second later. Pause. "No, I just thought I heard about something earlier, but if there hasn't been anything at all, then I must have been mistaken… right… thank you." He pulled the phone from his ear and hung up.

"Nothing?" Dean asked needlessly.

"Nope," Sam sighed, his hand falling to the table. "Guess we just wait on Chuck then."

"I don't want to," Dean was standing again, wandering over to the window and glancing out. The snow, though no longer blizzard levels, was falling heavily still, his lips falling into a frown as he watched it. Was Cas really out in this? He hoped not. Wherever he was, hopefully there was a roof over his head. "We might as well sta-"

Before he could finish, his own phone vibrated in his pocket. Quickly answering it once again, Dean waited for an explanation. Chuck didn't have any good news however, stating that Cas hadn't checked into any of the hotels in town and that the hospital had relayed similar results.

"We start searching the rest of the town then," Dean established, Chuck quickly agreeing and asking whether they should meet up or not. Dean supposed they should, to hash out how to divide up Burr, and soon he was taking note of where Chuck's house was located before hanging up.

"Let's go," Dean ordered as soon as the conversation had ended. Sam was on his feet and grabbing his coat immediately, Ruby glancing around in concern. She was told that she should remain where she was however, if only in case Cas showed up at the apartment.

Swathed in his leather jacket, Dean was tromping through the snow after his brother to his car within moments, the night seemingly ignited by the glow of snow. Slamming themselves into the Impala, Dean was soon forcing the slipping tires through the snow and out into the road. Windshield wipers screaming, he punched it through town to the location Chuck had given him, neither him nor Sam speaking as they considered the situation.

Chuck and Samandriel were waiting out in the driveway of Chuck's small, brick abode, but they weren't the only ones. There was another car in the drive as well, likely a rental, and Anna as well as Balthazar were speaking with them.

"Who's that?" Sam asked as they pulled in, gesturing to the fifth and final addition to the party out in the snow.

Dean scowled. "Michael." He glared. "I thought he was going back to Chicago…"

Sam didn't comment.

Exiting the car, they hunkered their way up to the porch – under the glow of Chuck's outdoor lights. Dean could feel his neck bristling the closer he got to Michael, but only his concern for Cas kept him from turning around and leaving in a huff.

"Hear anything?" Dean asked as they approached, his eyes directed at Chuck. Upon him and Sam joining the group, they drew the attention of everyone, the tension seeming to rise. Not that anyone was fool enough to question why. The way Dean was avoiding Michael, and the way he too was avoiding him, spelled everything out quite efficiently.

"No," Chuck shook his head, his arms hugged around him as he shivered in the snow. "Mrs. Novak's been calling though. She's real worried."

"We'll find him," Dean assured confidently.

"How can you be so sure?" That voice battered at Dean's skull like a crowbar, his eyes unintentionally snapping to that tall, suit-laden figure. Michael, in all his successful, business-like glory, was looking directly at him, those sharp eyes challenging. Or so Dean perceived them.

"Because I've lived here my whole life," he assured tightly, "and know the town like the back of my hand. If Cas is here, I'll find him." Or one of them would, but it sounded much more threatening when he said it so possessively. Which he wasn't ashamed to admit was his intent. Michael seemed to get the message, if the way his eyes narrowed said anything.

"Don't even start," Anna interjected swiftly. "This isn't about what's been going on between you three. This is about finding Cas." She wasn't going to tiptoe around the subject. "Fight about it later." In bringing up the subject however, she broke the ice and made it easier for a direct approach.

"Why is he even here?" Dean asked rather rudely, still staring at his nemesis.

"None of your fucking business," Michael rebuked hotly.

"Enough!" Anna practically shouted. "The plane back to Chicago was delayed because of the storm, alright? Can we move on please? Cas is out there somewhere, alone, and we need to find him. Before he freezes to death or something." Her shoulders dropped in a sulking manner, her eyes flicking warningly between the two men instigating the problem.

Dean saw her point, however, and rolled his eyes before looking back at Chuck, as if he was a designated team leader. " _We'll_  start on the south side of the town and work our way east. You two start north and go west. Check every bar and street along the way. We'll meet up at the Wal-Mart near Center and search that last." He didn't give the group any other options, his eyes surveying them all quickly (though he did linger on Mic hael a little longer than he should have) before he deemed the decision made and turned back to his car. Sam came along behind him, Balthazar skipping into action and trailing them thirdly. Anna and Michael went with Chuck and Samandriel, the Chicago natives likely being as good as useless on their own.

Climbing back into the impala, Balthazar took up the back seat just as Dean was beginning to back out into the road. Punching the gas, he hunched his shoulders as he drove, his eyes watching the darkness. Sam was looking out similarly, Balthazar attempting to do the same.

Until his was overcome by curiosity. "I'm somewhat surprised," Balthazar started eventually, "that Cas didn't go immediately to your apartment, after his father confronted him, that is." Dean's apartment, or so his speech implied.

"Cas and Dean are fighting," Sam explained when his older brother didn't answer.

"Oh…" Balthazar raised his eyebrows to himself. "I suppose I should have expected as much."

Huffing, Dean glared out at the snow.

**oOo**

"I am seriously starting to get worried," Anna was saying as they all walked back out into the Wal-Mart parking lot. "He's been missing for hours." She wasn't the only one with similar sentiments, the group eerily silent as they stood out in the snow-littered lot around their cars. They'd already searched the town, or at least as well as they could considering the weather. They'd stopped by every twenty-four hour outlet, every park (though there were only two) and even the old high school. Lastly they'd gone to the Wal-Mart, calling Cas's name over the intercom in the hopes that he was in the store. But, alas, he hadn't come, which left them, at three in the morning, with nothing more to say on their efforts than when they'd started.

"I don't know where else he could have gone," Samandriel mentioned helplessly. "There're only so many places you can go in this town."

"Maybe he went back to Chicago," Balthazar suggested. "To the airport?"

"Naomi has all his things," Anna shook her head. "His wallet, ID, and debit card. He couldn't get far without any of that." Let alone get on a plane. "He has to be here somewhere…"

"I wish he'd taken his damn phone," Dean swore angrily, shivering up into his jacket. "Fricken' idiot." His harsh words were based in concern, his nerves far more frazzled than when they'd first commenced the search. Because where else could they possibly look? Was Cas outside somewhere, freezing? Was he hurt? Had something happened? The snow-layered darkness hampered their search so considerably, he really couldn't say if they'd looked well enough or not.

"He was upset," Michael seemed to be reprimanding Dean, despite the fact that he'd been more wronged by Cas than the man whom he addressed. But maybe he was misdirecting his blame. "Taking his phone was probably the last thing on his mind. Cas doesn't always think when he's… panicking."

"So I've noticed," Dean muttered in ill humor.

"Are you always such a prick?" Michael asked him directly. "You're not even the one he cheated on."

"Fuck you!"

"Hey, hey, let's just… take it easy," Sam stepped between them, his hands visibly lowering the attitude. "This isn't going to help us find Cas." His tall, broad form did well in separating the two. Even against Michael he was still bigger, but a physical intervention wasn't enough to quell Dean's temper.

"Neither is he!" he accused roughly, gesturing toward Michael. "Might as well go back to the airport as helpful as he's been." Sam eyed his older brother warningly, but it didn't seem to do any good. "Probably better off without him."

"This entire thing is  _your_  fault!" Michael head-butted back into the conversation. "If you hadn't been sleeping with him in the first place, his father never would have found out he's gay!"

"Oh yeah?!" Dean went to take a threatening step toward him, Michael puffing his chest up in response.

"That's  _enough_!" Sam held his long arms out between them, his palm actually colliding with Dean's chest. "Grow up, both of you! This can wait till later." Their focus was getting sidetracked. Not that thinking continually on Cas had done them any good. But perhaps that was the problem – no amount of attention had gotten them any closer to finding the missing man.

"Whatever," Dean said after a moment of tense silence, shoving Sam's hand away from him. "We need to re-search the park outside town. A lot of snow's fallen since this afternoon." In other words, if something had happened to Cas, they'd best make sure to search every drift there was. A thought none of them considered happily.

Glancing only once more at Michael, Dean growled before turning and heading back to his car. Casting the group an apologetic frown, Sam did same, Balthazar jumping into action so as to catch up before getting left behind.

Slamming his way into the Impala, Dean waited the few seconds for the other two to get in before pulling out of the parking spot and heading back toward the road. He knew Sam was looking at him disapprovingly, but he, honestly, didn't care. He was right after all. Michael had no reason to be there, stuck as he was. Him and Cas were through and as far as Dean was concerned, he should be checked into an airport hotel as far away from Burr as he could get.

"You really should try and be the bigger person here Dean," Sam eventually started, looking out the windshield as he did. Behind them, Balthazar listened, not too intent on getting involved. "He's probably just as worried about Cas as you are."

"Him and Cas are over," Dean stated harshly, as if that should somehow nullify Michael's justification in being concerned.

"Yeah, just today," Sam replied honestly. "It's not like his feelings for Cas are just going to evaporate. You're being unreasonable."

"You know, I'm still having trouble figuring out whose side you're on."

"You know I'm always on your side Dean, which is why I'm trying to help you. Michael isn't your problem and acting nasty to him is only going to lose you points, no matter how you look at it. Whether Cas cheated on him or not, they were still together and he probably wouldn't appreciate you acting like dick to him."

"He's right," Balthazar interjected quickly.

Dean growled.

"You shouldn't let him get to you," Sam continued. "Cas picked you in the end, didn't he? You said he asked you to move to Chicago with him. And that he loved you. As far as Michael, you've already won, so you'd do better to have sympathy for him, not be angry with him. He's on the losing end." Dean supposed he couldn't argue with that, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Cas asked you to move to Chicago?" Balthazar questioned, clearly surprised. "And he said he loved you?"

"Yup," Dean verified without any further elaboration.

"Wow," Balthazar sat back, slumping in wonder. "That's just… I wouldn't have expected him to be so rash." Not exactly a positive outlook on the situation, Dean pursing his lips. "Not to say anything against you," he reached up and patted Dean encouragingly on the shoulder. "Cas is just sort of a… private person. Doesn't invite people into his life too flippantly."

"He said he lives with Michael," Dean commented.

"Well certainly, yes," Balthazar agreed, "but it took a good six months for Michael to convince him, and that was after they'd already been together a year. Even now, when I'm over at their place," Dean cringed at the use of "their," "I get the feeling that Cas isn't entirely comfortable."

"Maybe it isn't so much the situation as it is the person," Sam commented, not wanting Dean to feel discouraged from taking Cas up on his offer. Anything to get him out of Burr.

"Well, I'm not contradicting that," Balthazar assured. "Not to say Michael and Cas weren't seemingly good together, but I will admit that I'd never seen him quite so happy as he was with you, Dean." He was looking at the back of the driver's head. "You should take the many smiles he showers you with as great compliments. The rest of us see them far more rarely."

Dean couldn't bring himself to comment.

Looking ahead, he narrowed his eyes at the snow as it pummeled the windshield, as if his sheer determination could vanquish it and reveal the bare town of every hidden crevice that Cas could have possibly crawled into.

Where was he…?

"Dean," Sam pulled his attention a second later, that serious tone alerting him. His younger brother was staring down at his phone, at a text message, and it wasn't until he held it up for Dean to read that its importance was validated.

The message was from Gabriel, and all it read was an address.

"That's the old Whitherpool place," Dean murmured breathily, the glow of the phone igniting the cab of the car. Focusing his gaze from the phone to Sam, he saw the serious, knowing look in his brother's eyes, getting the message without any further pushing.

"What's the Whitherpool place?" Balthazar asked up to them.

"It's an old abandoned house outside of town," Sam explained as he put his phone away. "It's a thirty minute walk, but easily reached by car. Lots of parties went down there, lots of drinking. A kind of high school hangout back in our day, before it was deemed dangerous by the township. Nobody goes there now."

"Nobody… except Cas?" Balthazar asked.

"Guess we're gonna find out," Dean muttered. Knowing exactly where he was going, he registered his nerves jump into hyper drive as he swung his car around on the next right. Barely letting up on the gas, the vehicle slid through the slush as he punched it, the car that had been following them hastily coming after despite how they were detouring from their original destination.

Dean didn't care however. Instead, engine revving, he sped through town until they hit the empty, straight stretch of highway that led out into the Kansas countryside. In the backseat, he could hear Balthazar's phone ringing, the other man answering it and explaining where they were headed, of what little relevance that actually was.

Not caring at all for the condition of the road or the weather, Dean flexed his hands on the steering wheel, knowing, somehow, that this was it. This was where Cas would be.

Why or how he'd gotten there, however, were questions they'd just have to wait to answer.

"Look, there it is," Sam pointed out the window some silent minutes later, his gaze focused on a dark heap of old house and broken fence. Slowly pulling up beside the driveway, Dean peered at the snow-covered entrance and decided that, no matter his determination, there was no way his Baby was going to get in there. Instead, driving up on the side of the road, he left in running and put on the four ways, ordering that Balthazar stay with the car despite objections. As it were, he and Sam climbed out together, Dean's emergency flashlights in their hands.

"How did you know to come here?" Chuck asked as they stalked toward the unplowed driveway, his own car in much the same state back behind them. Unfortunately, it had been deemed that Anna stay behind with his car, meaning that Michael was coming up on them as well. Yet, for the first time, Dean didn't care. He had a lead. He was going to find Cas.

"Dean, look," Chuck's question was thoroughly ignored by the two brothers, who were shining their flashlights at the yard and driveway of the house. Sam was crouching down at the foot of the drive, his light reflecting off the snow there. "See these indentations?" Dean came up behind him. "The snow here was recently beat down by car tires and then covered up with fresh snow. Someone's been here…"

"Woulda been something with four-wheel drive to get through this," Dean determined, all the more curious now as to why Cas would be there. It was more concerning than anything else – for reasons he wasn't too bent on actually entertaining. "C'mon, let's go." Nodding, him and Sam went on bravely, Chuck, Samandriel, and Michael looking at one another before following after. Boots pushing on through the calf-high snow, they stayed along the edge of the car tracks, which were hardly visible beneath the drifts in some places (and because of the darkness. It wasn't as though the abandoned house had yard lights). Thankfully, as they forced their way up the long driveway, large, empty, overhanging branches had blocked some of the snow and wind. And as they approached the decrepit old house, some of the tracks closest were even totally visible.

"Don't step in them," Dean issued harshly as he pushed Chuck back by the shoulder, who'd been so intent on getting out of the deep snow that he'd nearly jumped into the packed down path. "We may need those tracks later." Dean didn't voice why, but if the cops ended up involved, and evidence was necessary…

Chuck, somewhat put-off by Dean's attitude, frowned, but didn't object. It was pretty clear he didn't understand the significance of the tracks however. Not that anyone was going to explain.

The house was an intimidating sight. Two stories high, it was a wooden-sided old farmhouse. The white paint had long since faded to a shabby, chipped gray, and the shingles atop the roof were completely gone in some areas. The planks on the deck were eaten away at the edges and creaked as they stepped up onto them, and many of the windows were busted and nailed up with wood so as to keep out curious teenagers. One side of the house, the left side, had collapsed in on itself, the snow piling in, and Dean wondered how long it'd be until the rest of it would cave too.

"This place always gave me the creeps," Samandriel muttered as they made their way up under the awning. "I heard it was haunted…"

"It is," Chuck assured. "Fifty years ago, there was an old farmer here that got so angry over his daughter sleeping with a hoodlum in town that he murdered her. True story. I've read about it in the newspaper archives." He then shivered, Dean rolling his eyes. During his youth, he and his football buddies had come and hung out in and around the house many times, and they'd never encountered any ghosts. Load of bullshit as far as he was concerned.

"Sam," Dean said his brother's name sharply as he slipped through the thin layer of snow on the porch. "Someone rigged this to look locked." He'd approached the door, which had been padlocked shut by the cops years before. "The padlock isn't actually doing anything." Pulling on it, the clasp easily broke away, Dean looking down at the lock before dropping it heavily to the floor.

"Dean…" Sam looked at his brother knowingly, the other returning the look before taking a deep breath and reaching out to flip the latch that would let them inside. Pushing on the door, it slowly slid open, oddly silent as the musty, unused stench wafted from the house.

"I can't believe I'm going in here…" Chuck was muttering as they slowly filed inside, flashlights flicking around quickly in search of anything that might be important. What they saw were a couple of bird corpses along holes in the windows, snow crowding in from the collapsed roof on the left, and peeling wallpaper. There were some old, seventies-styled couches and tables as well, which were either broken and leaning, or eaten away by rodents. A thick layer of dust covered everything, a slight glow from the left filtering in with the snow.

"Cas?" Dean called out gruffly, his voice falling flat against a creak of the old house – as if to answer his call. Nothing else greeted them however, Sam meeting Dean's eyes only quickly before they headed further into the house. Michael, not nearly as spooked as Chuck and Samandriel, made his way along the left side, by the debris, his own tiny flashlight searching. Dean headed to the back room, Sam going along the right while Chuck and Samandriel stood back stupidly, not knowing what to do.

Dean's search granted him nothing however, much to his own frustration, and it was only upon hearing Sam call his name that he hasted his actions. Going back the way he'd come, he saw his brother's flashlight over by the stairs that led up into the second story, Michael's bobbing toward them on the other side of the house.

"What?" Dean asked gruffly as he approached.

"Look at that step," Sam set his flashlight on the fifth step up, which was splintered half way down the middle. "Look at the splinters. They're not covered in grime. That step was broken recently."

"You think some idiot went up there?" Dean asked. Because it was one thing to go in the house and quite another to take the stairs. Not even Dean and his friends had done that. Above their heads, they could see where the supports to the floor were cracked and collapsing, holes even apparent in some areas.

"I don't know," Sam shook his head. "But I don't know what else, other than a human, could have been heavy enough to break that step."

Dean growled. "Cas?!" he shouted. "You up there?!"

Nothing.

"Guess we're going up," Michael determined bravely, Dean unsure whether to commend his decision or be irritated with it. As if to make up for the remark, Dean didn't even hesitate as he set his foot on the first step, which moaned under his weight.

"One at a time," he issued severely to the others, taking another step up. Slowly but surely, while lifting his foot completely over the cracked fifth step, he made his way up, feeling no more secure once he'd reached the top. Michael came after him, then Sam, Chuck and Samandriel remaining at the bottom at Sam's command. There was no telling how much weight the second story could take.

Upstairs, the house was divided into three sections, one hall that led to a long room on the right, a center door to the back, and a mirroring hall to the left. Nodding to each other, the three men spread out between it, Dean finding himself heading along the most treacherous route as he lined the left area of the house that had fallen apart. The door to the room was still intact however and, careful as he stepped into the room there, he looked at the far side where the floor was splintered and broken, and tried to control his stomach as it flipped. Because falling through there, into the pile of pointed debris, would likely cause a few serious injuries.

Shaking his head, he looked to the rest of the room. Though half of it was caved, there was still some furniture intact. A dresser along the right wall before a boarded up window, and a bed along the edge. A large pile of old blankets was stacked up in the corner half-hazardly before the hanging closet doors.

Stepping over the weakened floorboards, Dean reached the bed, his hand running along the sheets as he sighed. There were no signs of life, no signs that anyone had even been there. And seeing as neither Michael nor Sam had shouted for him, they too had failed to find anything.

He'd been so certain that Cas would be there.

Probably acting more foolishly than he should have, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his gaze falling to the closet on the other side. It was empty, the corners dark as he shined his flashlight in. Had he not made the flippant effort to look however, he would have missed the odd way a side of the blanket pile had crumpled, shoved up against the wall. Like there was something under it, holding it a few inches off the ground.

Eyebrows furrowing, Dean pushed himself off the bed before crouching beside the blankets. Reaching down with little trepidation, his pushed the blankets aside to reveal what was underneath.

What he found nearly made his blood run cold.

A hand.

Pale and cold, it was palm-up, the fingers unmoving as the rest of the arm disappeared beneath the blankets. But Dean knew. He'd know that hand anywhere. The artistic curves and fine shape. Even pale and lifeless, he knew that hand.

Fingers gripping at the blanket where he still held it, he felt fear drop coldly down upon him in that moment. Because he knew he had to pull away the rest of the blankets, but he dreaded what he'd find. His whole chest stilled, his heart slowing as his stomach twisted into knots. His legs felt numb, his brain seeming to inflate in his skull.

But he had to do it. He had to pull those coverings away.

Teeth gritted, it seemed to take all his strength to lift the blankets away fully. And as he did, his whole body became heavy, as if it could drop through the floor.

As if he'd never get up again.

"C-Cas," he choked out, falling to his knees and reaching out to the still, bloodied body. Hands shaking, he set them down on that ripped and red-stained sweater, his eyes taking in the damage his brain was attempting to comprehend.

Bruises and cuts all over him, his face beaten and bleeding. His lips, the ones Dean had had on his own only that very morning, were parted and pale. Cold. Freezing. Blood trickled from his nose, from cuts masked by his mop of black hair. And those eyes, those eyes were closed.

Dean couldn't see him breathing.

"Cas…" he whispered again, his brain finally beginning to put the pieces together. "Oh god Cas, no." His voice broke, his body scooting closer as he wrapped his arms around that damaged, limp body, pulling him closer. He could feel his panic rising, his body becoming jumpy and plagued by nerves. Wanting some kind of verification, anything, he leaned his cheek down over those lips, but… but he felt nothing.

No breath.

"No, no Cas," he shook his head, tears coming faster to his eyes than, were he in a more fit state, he might have expected. As it was, however, he didn't care. Didn't even notice. "Don't be dead Cas, c'mon." Lowering his ear to that bloodied chest, he closed his eyes and he listened. He listened for anything.

Even the faintest sign.

"C'mon Cas," he whispered, his face contorting in grief and pain. "C'mon…"

The silence seemed like it would reign forever, but out of the folds of that sweater, he thought he heard it. A faint, barely there beat.

A heartbeat.

"Oh my god," he leaned back up, his shaking hand reaching out to grip at the ripped sweater as his other went under and pulled Cas's limp form up into his lap. Looking around, his panic finally began to settle in fully, his voice coming out of his throat in a desperate, pleading scream.

"Sam!" his deep call echoed disjointedly around the old house. "Michael!" He didn't care who came, just so long as someone did. "Somebody!" He could hear their feet sprinting swiftly toward him, but it wasn't fast enough. " _Sam_!"

His brother's tall silhouette was in the doorway, Dean's hand reaching up to sift through Cas's hair as his eyes flicked between that bloodied face and his brother's shocked one.

"Call an ambulance Sam!" He commanded through the tears that still rolled steadily down his cheeks. " _Call an ambulance_!"

**oOo**

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting out in that unfeeling, blank, whitewashed room. It could have been hours or only mere minutes. The chairs were uncomfortable, plastic, and every once in a while he got up and paced up and down the hall, merging into the scrubs and jackets whisking to and fro. The florescent lights above seemed glaring, too bright, and did little to set him at ease.

His stomach had yet to untwist itself.

He wasn't alone however, no matter how he felt otherwise. Sam and, now, Ruby sat watching him, his own little personal support group that he refused comfort from. They watched him pace, they watched him sit, and sometimes they offered him coffee, which he always declined.

Down from them, set up in a row, was Chuck, Samandriel, then Balthazar. They sat the whole time, talking occasionally, then sometimes pulling out their phones if only to waste the time away. Chuck tapped his foot occasionally, and Balthazar sometimes leaned his head back, as if trying to sleep and ultimately failing.

Across from them, beside Anna, was Naomi. Initially she's come in panicked, the last to hear about what had happened and the last to arrive. She'd been upset, crying, and Anna had taken it upon herself to hold the poor mother. She'd since pulled herself together, as women such a Naomi were prone to doing, and sat with her purse in her lap, one hand clasped in Anna's. She stared blankly ahead, or down, and rarely said a word. Anna remained her hovering support, ready to piece her back together should her resolve falter.

One seat over from Anna was Michael, his finger pulling at his lip as he stared blankly ahead. He hadn't moved since they'd arrived. Rather, he was like some immobile Grecian statue, expressionless and unreadable.

Dean was pacing again.

"How long has it been?" Ruby was whispering to Sam, concern in her voice despite how little she knew Cas. But she knew Dean, and could see how upset he was.

"Uh… three hours?" Sam offered uncertainly. "They said they'd send someone out to speak with us as soon as they knew something." A fact Ruby already knew perfectly well, but hearing the words was somehow comforting to them all. As if it validated the fact of it.

Dean, sitting down again, huffed and leaned back in his chair.

Occasionally, because misery was entertainment, those who passed him by stared, as if taken aback by the blood on his shirt and stained against his arm – where he hadn't washed yet. He always gave them a glare, not wanting to remember how he'd found Cas lying there, cold and lifeless with only a faint beat in his chest. How – because he'd been afraid the paramedics would refuse to come up the stairs – he'd carried that body down the steps and out into the main room, holding it aloft as the ambulance came swinging near the drive, he couldn't recall. The paramedics had unloaded their gurney and come rushing down the drive to the house, Dean coming out onto the porch to deliver the limp form.

They'd taken Cas, strapped him in and hooked all kinds of tubes to his body that Dean hadn't understood. They'd talked about how serious it was, that it might be too late, and that they had to get him back to the hospital. They'd run off, pushing that fully loaded gurney into the back of the ambulance, one of the paramedics wiping freshly fallen snow off the unmoving chest as they'd closed the doors and driven off.

Sam had pushed Dean into the passenger side of the car, Balthazar jumping once more into the back from which he must have left. The Impala followed the ambulance, Dean not in control as Sam guided it swiftly through the snow and darkness – following those flashing lights through the haze.

Upon reaching the hospital however, they'd been escorted to the waiting room. To the worst possible place they could be put. A doctor had come out shortly after, explaining that "he was in a delicate state and that they were doing all they could to bring him back." As if he'd actually been somewhere from which they'd had to retrieve him. Once they managed to stabilize him, they'd let it be known. But until then, family and friends had to remain outside and wait.

 _Wait_.

Fidgeting in his seat, Dean tried not to get too impatient. He knew it took time, bringing someone back when they'd supposedly left. But it was torturous, sitting there with nothing to do and no idea what they were waiting for. How did it take so long? What were they doing?

Was he going to make it or not?

"It'll be alright Dean," Sam murmured next to him, as if he'd seen the questions flitting across his brother's face. "If no one's come out to tell us anything, then it means he's still… alive. If something had happened, we'd know by now." Not the most comforting of realities, but it wasn't the worst, so Dean supposed he'd have to accept it. Or maybe he simply had no choice.

No matter the ideology, whenever those double doors leading into the ICU opened and closed, and a doctor or nurse came out, he was put on edge. Yet time and again they walked by, intent on other subjects.

Until, finally, they weren't.

Still wearing her gloves and cap, a doctor in worn green scrubs came through, her eyes going to them immediately. As if a wave of silent words had left her, they all stood, Naomi rushing forward first and then being the person the doctor gave the most attention. To the avid mother's direct right stood Dean, anxious and impatient as the doctor took a deep, collective breath.

"We've managed to stabilize his condition," she said quietly, her mask pulled down around her neck. "However, he's not completely out of the dark yet. His body has been through a lot of trauma. Between the physical battery," Dean pursed his lips, "and the hypothermia, he's just… barley hanging on." She sighed. "He's also suffered a considerable amount of trauma to the head." Naomi's hand went to her mouth as she listened. "The brain is extremely swollen and we're keeping him induced in a coma for now. To give it time to rest, and heal. So he's not awake and won't be for a few days. If… if he wakes up at all."

"Can… can I see him?" Naomi asked, her voice choked.

"Yes," the doctor nodded. "But I warn you, he's not… He's very injured."

Naomi didn't care however; she just wanted to see her son. Because of his condition however, and as he was in the ICU, only two people were permitted back to see him at a time. So Anna went with Naomi first, Dean sentenced back to his chair to wait in torment.

It seemed an eternity until Naomi and Anna finally came back, though it was only, maybe, thirty minutes. They were both tear-streaked when they left, met in the waiting area by the rest of Cas's Chicago natives. Dean considered, only for a second, that perhaps it was appropriate that someone else go see him next, someone that had known him longer, but quickly dashed the thought. He didn't care anymore and, rising to his feet, was headed into the ICU before the door had even closed behind Naomi and Anna. Sam, standing abruptly in surprise, followed him, the two stealing the second position as Dean pressed his way through the hall.

He didn't know exactly where Cas was, but searched every curtained room he passed until he spotted the familiar tuft of black hair. Skidding to a halt, he turned into the room, hardly aware of Sam coming in behind him.

There were machines beeping, the bed suspended some so Cas's head was at a slight angle. His arms were strapped with needles and tape, his ripped clothing replaced with a fresh gown. The blood had been washed from his skin, but he was still bruised and pale. There was a mask over his face, helping him breathe, and his body was wrapped tightly in heated blankets.

His chest, to Dean – who'd seen the heaviness that it could move at times – seemed hardly capable of going up and down.

He looked so small there, tied up with those tubes and covered in marred skin.

So vulnerable.

"Cas…" Dean's voiced murmured softly as he approached the bed. Sitting down on the edge, he hesitated for only a moment before reaching up and allowing his hand to find what little bit of flesh was exposed on the side of his face. His fingers touched his temple, then back to his hair. The caresses garnered no response however, the steady beating of the machines the only proof he was alive at all.

"Oh Cas…" Dean shook his head, his expression contorting in pain as he closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry…" He didn't know exactly what he was apologizing for, but he couldn't help feeling somewhat responsible for whatever it was that had happened to him. If he'd been there, if he hadn't kicked him out of his apartment, then when Jim had confronted him, he wouldn't have been alone. Dean would have been there, would have kept him out of harm's way. But, instead…

"I'll find them Cas," Dean muttered seriously, his jaw tense. "I'll find who did this to you and I'll kill them." He took a shaky breath, Sam pursing his lips as he listened from the door. "I swear to God Cas, I'll rip their lungs out. They won't get away with this."

In that moment, looking at that broken, beaten body before him, he felt he meant it. That he meant every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm, yeah, all 'dem chapters. Happy Birthday to me tomorrow, so here's a gift for you. Please just let me know what you think. Thanks!


	15. Maybe a Change for the Better

"Dean!" Sam called after him, but there was no response. Instead, as though possessed by drive, he pushed his way out of the ICU doors and back into the waiting area. Glancing around only once at the people that rose to meet him, he gathered their stares before turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. Sam came skidding after him, still calling his name as he headed away from the questioning looks of everyone else still left behind.

He didn't care about that though. No, he had a mission now, a directive, and he wasn't going to let anyone stop him from accomplishing it.

Seeing the front double doors to the hospital ahead of him, he shoved his way out into the cold, ignoring the chill that swept up beneath his open jacket and instead hunkering across the sidewalk and out into the parking lot. Sam had caught up to him, was trailing at his heels, but he didn't turn to face him. Instead, boots gliding through the slush, he located his car in the darkness and pulled his keys from his pocket.

Sam finally took action.

"Dean!" he shouted, grabbing his brother by the arm and pulling him back from the Impala. "What are you doing?!"

Dean yanked himself free, turning to catch his brother's gaze. "I'm going to find who did this," he repeated it as though it were obvious, "and I'm gonna kill 'em." He returned his attention to his car.

"Dean, stop!" Sam reached out to him again, which got him a rather violent shove backward in response. "You need to chill!"

"How?!" Dean yelled, frustrated and hurt, and upset. Grieving. "He could still die Sammy! He might never wake up! And why? Because some… bigoted assholes can't stand that fact that he's different?! No!" He shook his head. "People like that need to be wiped from the world! He never did  _anything_  to them! He never means to hurt anybody!" His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, and his hands shook at his sides. "I'm not going to sit back and let them get away with it!"

"Then don't!" Sam agreed. "Call the cops. Report it! But don't take it into your own hands!"

"Sammy, you said it yourself that the cops in this town could be just as corrupt as the people who did this," Dean replied heatedly. "I know the cops here. Most aren't going to give a damn. As soon as they realize why Cas was hurt, they'll file it away and forget about it!"

"Then…" Sam didn't know what to say. "You can't do this Dean! Cas wouldn't want you out there trying to-"

"Cas doesn't want anything!" he yelled. "He can't talk, he can't think! He's a fucking vegetable!" Dean gripped his hands into fists.

"You going after who did this isn't going to bring him back!" Sam reasoned loudly, their voices carried by the wind and snow across the parking lot. "It won't do anything!"

"It'll give them what they deserve!" Dean rebuked, overpowering his brother as he raised his hand to point a single finger at him. "Stay away from me Sammy. Just stay away." Deeming that final, he met his brother's gaze for only a moment longer before ducking into his car and slamming the door closed. Starting her up, he didn't look back at Sam out the window despite how he felt those disapproving eyes on him. Instead, whipping the Impala out of its spot, he punched her out of the parking lot and into the road.

Sam stood behind a while longer, looking after him, before shaking his head and heading back inside. When he was greeted by the curious gazes of everyone else, he said nothing, instead slamming his body down beside Ruby and taking a huffing breath.

Dean knew exactly what he was doing however. Hands flexing around the wheel, he pushed his car down to the south side of town, to the familiar house where he'd often picked his brother up time and again. Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten in shades, the sun slowly bringing the morning, but it was still too dark to know the difference. Most people were only just getting up, getting around, and wouldn't take kindly to some crazed man showing up in their driveway with a homicidal wish. But Dean did just that, pulling his car up through the snow before shoving himself out.

He wasn't that surprised to see his target waiting outside on the porch, smoking a cigarette.

"Gabriel!" he yelled, the shorter man looking over at him shortly and raising a skeptical brow.

"Quiet down there Dean, my parents are still asleep." Because he still lived at home. He'd gone to college out of state, graduated and everything, but had, for some reason, moved back to Burr. Not that any such facts were Dean's concerns.

"Shut up!" Dean issued as he climbed up the steps to the porch, rounded on Gabriel, grabbed him by the shirt, and slammed him up against the side of the house. "How did you know where to find Cas?"

His cigarette had fallen from between his fingers, but that was about as close to "surprised" as Gabriel got. Instead, looking Dean up and down like he was a child, he withheld answering for some moments despite how his shirt was being stretched in Dean's grasp.

"Tell me!"

"Lower the volume and I will," Gabriel scolded, which only got him shoved further up against the side of his parents' house.

"Don't tell me what to fucking do! You don't spill it and I'll assume you were involved, so unless you have a death wish…" Gabriel eyed him with an un-amused look, still completely unfazed by Dean's threats.

"You can't honestly think I had something to do with this," he drawled.

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "You did see us out at the park, and that same day Cas's dad finds out he's gay, so you tell me."

"Oh c'mon Dean," Gabriel sounded almost disappointed. "Unless you and Cassie were bangin' between the time I found out and when his dad got the message, then it's impossible I gave him those pictures. I know you don't think much of me, but really?"

"How do you know about the pictures?"

"Oh, so you  _can_  think.  _Can_  put the pieces together."

"Gabriel!"

"Let me go, chill out, and I'll tell you." He raised his eyebrows expectantly. And Dean, who wasn't really in the mood for letting anything go, didn't immediately do as asked. However, it soon became apparent that Gabriel wasn't going to say anything unless his request was fulfilled, so, with a growl and shove, Dean released him, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest as Gabriel smoothed out his shirt.

"Talk," Dean commanded.

Gabriel scoffed, smiled, and shook his head. "You really got to work on your people skills." Dean was not amused and Gabriel supposed it was time to stop messing around. "You know that I work down at the plant part-time." The local paper plant in Burr – about the only real source of income the town had. "I overheard someone talking about it as the night shift was coming in."

"Who?"

"Now, now Dean," he held up a patronizing finger. "You're a little too riled up to get that information."

"I will still beat the shit out of you."

"Dean," Gabriel's expression dropped into one of sheer darkness, abruptly serious, "chill the fuck out." Dean glared. "I get you don't like me, and I'm honestly not that fond of you, but you're Sam's brother, so I'm trying to help you out."

Dean wasn't convinced. "You've never used that reasoning before."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged. "I don't like what happened to poor Cassie any more than you do. I did go to school in New York City after all, and…" he a cocked a single eyebrow, "I imagine I'd be in much the same attitude as you if something similar were to happen to Sam, so…"

This was news to Dean. "Really?" he asked, honestly surprised. "Well that really sucks for you. Too bad, I don't think Sammy's got much interest in dudes."

"Thank you," Gabriel replied sarcastically. "Do you want to know what I know or not?" Dean kept his mouth closed. "Like I was saying, we were switching shifts. I was standing in the locker room when I heard someone talking about dumping someone off at the old Whitherpool place. A little while later, I got a text from Sam with the news on what was happening. I put two and two together."

"That still doesn't tell me who did it."

"No, it doesn't," Gabriel verified. "And, honestly, I don't know that I'm going to give you any names." Dean glared. "Think about it. I tell you who did it, and then you waltz off to their house like you did mine. Maybe you beat them up, maybe you don't. Maybe you even kill 'em. Fact is, none of it gets you anywhere good."

"Gabriel…"

"I'm not stupid Dean," he muttered, almost dangerously. "Cas isn't, after all, the only homosexual forced to grow up in this godforsaken place." There was bitterness to his voice. "You're right in knowing that the police aren't going to do much. Not here they're not. But you're not thinking big enough." Dean narrowed his eyes. "This is a hate crime, Dean. A terrible one. During a time when gay rights are at the forefront of every political mind. You want to get these guys, you want to avenge Cas? You tell the right people."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't have the right kind of connections, but I do. You give me one day," he held up his finger, "and I'll have every media outlet on this story."

Dean paused. "You live at home with your parents…"

"And I run one of the most popular online gossip journals on the internet," he shrugged. "What can I say?" A smile. "Once everybody in the country hears about this, they're all going to be sticking their noses in. Now, I know you're the type for instant gratification, but I'd like to see the ones responsible for this  _squirm_  under that kind of weight, as well as the police, who'll then have to act."

"Okay," Dean clicked his tongue. "I'm not stupid. What do you get out of all this?"

"I get the coverage," Gabriel replied easily enough. "And the chance to be taken seriously as a journalist and not be some eternal, celebrity plastic surgery reporter. That's what I get." He held up his finger again. "But… this will be big, which means you have to promise me something. I'm the only one that gets the interview. With you, and Cas, and everybody else."

"Why would anybody want to interview me?"

"Because you're the one in the photos with him," Gabriel made perfectly clear, Dean's expression tightening. "Those photos are as good as evidence. Sorry," he shrugged, "but it looks like you're comin' out of the closet."

"Those are private, even to the media," Dean made perfectly clear.

"Sure," Gabriel shrugged. "I'm not sayin' anyone is going to see them. But it'll be known they exist."

Dean sighed. Honestly, the photos didn't bother him that much. He'd already come to terms with the fact that whoever had taken them would probably spread word of his actions to others, if not pass the photos along. No, this was simply an issue of whether he believed Gabriel was capable of doing what he said.

"But see Dean," Gabriel continued. "If I tell you the names, you're going to fly off your rocker and end up messing this perfect situation up." Dean glared, offended, but kept his mouth closed. "The only thing you get to do is go back to the hospital, or wherever, and act like the doting boyfriend you are. Step back," Gabriel came up and placed a hand on his shoulder, "and let the grownups handle it."

"I fucking hate you."

"Well you shouldn't," Gabriel smiled. "I'm doing you a favor. I'm stopping you from doing something you'll regret when Cas wakes up and learns his boyfriend is in prison for mass murder on his behalf." He stepped back again. "Go home Dean, and don't go looking for the assholes, alright? I'll deal with it, I swear." For once – since they'd known each other – he sounded sincere. Dean could see it in his eyes, his own anger. Maybe him and Cas hadn't ever talked much, but they were the same. It could have just as easily been Gabriel suffering as Cas had, if his secret had gotten out. Him and Cas had grown up under the same umbrella, with the same worries and hauntings. If there was anyone who wanted to get the assholes who'd done this as much as Dean, it was the man standing before him.

"Fine," Dean agreed, his temper finally beginning to deflate. "But you tell me everything." Gabriel nodded, though it was questionable whether he meant it or not. "And if this doesn't go the way you say, you tell me the names and  _I'll_  deal with it."

"Alright," Gabriel shrugged. "A story about mass murder is as good as the gay hate crime I suppose. Either way, I win." It was just an issue of how Dean came out of this. But he could see, in that moment, that he had to do as Gabriel said if this was going to be solved in the right manner. Because if Gabe really could get the media involved, then Dean could be satisfied. So long as justice took its proper course and the ones responsible for what had happened ended up behind bars.

Because that was the only good ending he could imagine for the perpetrators.

However, with his anger dissipated, he was left with the sense of helplessness that had assaulted him when he'd originally discovered Cas and ended up waiting at the hospital. Saying a short farewell to Gabriel, he slowly dragged himself to his car, sitting stationary in the front seat for a few moments as he considered what to do with himself.

What was he supposed to do? Just… go back and wait for Cas to wake up? There had to be something else. Something more. Something he could  _do_. But Gabriel was right. Finding the assholes behind it wouldn't end well for him or any future investigation. Yet if they were off limits, what could he…? Was he really just supposed to sit back and wait?

Wait for a solution that no one knew how to find?

**oOo**

Cas was relocated to his own room later that day. The doctors decided that, since he'd overcome his hypothermia, it was safe to move him out of the ICU. And though this was good news, it didn't say anything on his ability to improve further. He was still being kept comatose, and was still strung up by tubes and machines. But with the private room, more people were able to crowd in and stare, which probably would have made him uncomfortable if he'd been aware of it.

Or so Dean was thinking from his position standing in the corner of the room by the wall and the window. He smiled shortly to himself, imagining how Cas would react to the fact that, not only was he being gawked at continuously, but that the actions of his friends and family served absolutely no viable purpose. They neither helped nor hindered, or so Cas would have argued before sending them all from the room.

But he couldn't do that – he couldn't do anything – and so there they stayed. Some of them, anyway.

Chuck and Samandriel had left, claiming work despite going on no sleep. Anna, Balthazar, and Michael had left for a few hours as well, to change and take a short nap. Dean too had done so, at Sam's prompting (he and Ruby had promised to stop by again later), and had returned to the hospital upon hearing the news that Cas was to be moved to a private room. Naomi had delivered the message, as she'd refused to leave her son's side the entire time. She'd only eaten at prompting from Dean and Anna, the two taking her down to the cafeteria while Cas was resituated.

Because, Dean figured, if he couldn't do anything helpful for Cas, the least he could do was try and help the ones closest to him.

As it was currently, the sun was setting into evening, Anna and Balthazar speaking quietly on the other side of the room while Naomi sat at her son's side, holding his hand and staring desperately at him. Michael was there too, planted at the end of the bed in his dapper slacks and gray sweater. Neither he nor Dean had said anything to one another all day, sufficiently squashing any tension between them for, well, for Naomi's sake. The last thing she needed to deal with was two men fighting over her comatose son.

That didn't, however, stop others from upsetting the delicate balance.

Looking to the door, Dean half expected that the one intruding on the room would be his brother, seeing as he'd said he would. When the door opened to reveal Jim Novak, Dean stood up straighter, uncertainty dropping down on him. Anna and Balthazar stood as well, Michael the last to get the message as he pushed his seat back and stepped to the side. To Dean's side, actually.

"Jim…" Naomi said her husband's name softly as he came fully into the room. He was wearing his typical suit with his long black coat, his expression cold, detached, and utterly exhausted.

"Is that Cas's dad?" Michael whispered softly, Dean glancing to him only quickly before nodding.

"Naomi," Jim said shortly, looking first to her before his eyes fell to his son. Whatever his thoughts were on the broken, beaten young man before him, they didn't show. He was as unreadable as always.

His gaze then flitted across the room, his attention landing lastly on Dean. It was then, meeting that dark, penetrating stare, that Dean saw just how much Cas's father despised him. Certainly the older man was adept at hiding his emotions, but apparently that much hatred couldn't be masked. And Dean, uncertain how to react, fidgeted some and glanced down at his boots.

He could figure that Jim blamed him for everything that had happened. It was irrational, but he  _had_  been the other one in the photos. He'd been the one that had, to Jim, dragged his son through sin and destroyed their family. Not only was he Michael's home wrecker, but he was the Novak's too. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, obviously, but part of Dean also knew that it wasn't his fault either. Jim was the one who took issue with Cas's lifestyle, not Dean. Whether he could accept it or not, well, that wasn't anyone's problem but his own.

Those dark, masked eyes went back to Naomi. "You should come home," he said simply.

"I…" Naomi's voice was hesitant, her blue eyes darting quickly back to Cas before returning to her husband. "I can't do that," she decided.

"Naomi," Jim sounded defeated. "There is nothing you can do here. He's alive; that should satisfy you. Let us go home."

"Satisfy me?" Naomi asked quietly. "What… Does that satisfy  _you_?" She was clearly offended, with good reason, and her skeptical voice nearly cracked as she gripped Cas's hand tighter.

"My opinion is of no relevance," Jim determined. "I feel… nothing on the subject."

"You're a liar," Naomi accused, delicately placing Cas's hand at his side atop the bed before standing. She faced her husband, the lines of her face resolute as she took in his empty stare. "How can you walk in here and look at your son, and say you feel nothing?"

Jim sighed, closing his eyes momentarily before taking her in again. "Castiel is not my son."

"It doesn't matter what you tell yourself Jim, that will  _never_  be true," Naomi countered, Dean under the impression that they were about to witness a reenactment of the argument the two had supposedly doled out the day before. "Castiel, no matter his life choices, was made of you and me and there is nothing you can say that will change that."

"Naomi," Jim's voice was a little shorter. "Castiel has cast off both us and everything we believe. He is alive, a comfort I know you'll take. Let it end there and be done with him."

"Who  _are_  you?" Naomi asked, her head shaking as she stared at her husband. Quite like she'd never seen him before.

"I am a man of God, Naomi," he replied steadily. "As I've always been."

"You think he deserved this… don't you?" she reasoned. "You think this," she gestured down to her son, "is God's justice?"

"I believe everything happens for a reason, just as I always have," he replied, cold as ever. "Our son made a choice and will spend the rest of his life dealing with the consequences. My feelings on the matter, of which I have none, are of no relevance."

"No," Naomi shook her head, her breath shaking slightly. "You're wrong." Jim's eyebrows went up slightly at that. "I don't know what… what God you believe in," her words seemed to echo her son's, "but the one that I place my faith in would never wish for something like this to happen to anyone." She's placed her hand on her chest, gulping. "Nor will I support such terrible things as acts of God. Castiel has done  _nothing_  to deserve this."

"Naomi, you are blinded by your-"

"No!" Her voice rang out loudly, almost a shout, and everyone conscious in the room flinched, even Jim. " _You_  are blinded by your hatred! You are close-minded and ignorant." His dark eyes were wide, apparently unaccustomed to his wife speaking to him so. "I will not live  _my_  life feeling so about other people, let alone my own son. If I am blinded by my love for him, then so be it. It's better than allowing hatred to dictate my choices."

"I do not 'hate,'" Jim corrected, his voice short and tempered. "I pity Castiel for his misled choices, but I do not 'hate' him. I-"

"You do," Naomi determined quietly. "You do hate him." She didn't have to defend her position. Her penetrating stare on her husband was enough to ruffle his feathers. "You hate him because you don't understand him."

"And you do?"

"Yes," she claimed. "I may not know how he feels, or know what he's been through, but I do understand. I have made sure of that. And if you were half the compassionate man that you're claiming, you'd make the same efforts."

"It is not for  _me_  to understand the ways of sinners," Jim snapped. "Nor is it your place to do so. Come home Naomi, and leave this behind."

"I will not." She stood resolute.

"Naomi!"

"I will  _not_!" she really did yell then, her voice echoing around the hospital room. "Never will I allow you to separate me from my son!" Dean, his ears open, twitched his head to look at the heart monitor, whose repetitive beat had become so regular that he noticed even the slightest fluctuation.

The beeping had sped up some.

"He is a  _blasphemy_  Naomi!" Jim shouted back, Anna and Balthazar looking nervously to the door, waiting for nurses to come rushing in. "He has chosen a lifestyle outside of God and if you support him, then you too fall to sin!"

"Then so be it!" Naomi screamed back. "Let me be  _damned_  by your God! But I will not forsake my son!"

"Uh… guys…" Dean had walked to the side of Cas's bed, somewhat unnerved at the rate his heartbeat was speeding up. "Maybe we should lower the volume. I think you're upsetting Cas…" Oddly enough, despite the horror of the argument, Dean found himself excited over the fact that Cas was responding to what was going on around him, even if it was rather negatively.

That meant he was still there – still in there somewhere.

Snapping her head to the side, Naomi looked to her son, registering as well the way his heartbeat had fluctuated. Lips tight, tears brimming along her eyes, she whipped back around at her husband, her gaze dangerous as she stared him down. Daring him to step one more foot out of line.

Before any more could be said on the situation however, a nurse finally arrived. She walked right by Jim to Cas, checking his vitals and taking note of the elevated heart rate. The interruption was enough to jar the argument, Jim returning his wife's look for only a moment before turning and heading back out the way he'd come. He hadn't even cast a second look at his son.

The nurse, eyeing them all suspiciously as Cas's heart rate slowly returned to normal, soon left as well, passing by Sam as he entered the room.

Naomi, watching Cas once again, lifted her hand to her lips as the argument, as well as Cas's situation, overcame her. Tears ran from her eyes for the second time since this had all happened, her body trembling as Anna came up behind her and offered a hug. Naomi immediately turned into the redhead, her misery and grief echoing in everyone as Dean stepped away from Cas's bed, making his way over to Sam. He kept his eyes trained on Cas's figure for a few moments along the way, eventually pulling himself to face the curious look on his younger brother's face.

"Wasn't that Cas's dad that just left?" he asked quietly.

"Not here," Dean replied, gesturing out into the hall. Taking the hint, Sam backed up out of the room, followed shortly by Dean as he closed the door behind him. "Yes," he replied to Sam's question. "And he's an asshole." There wasn't much more to be said on the subject, Dean registering anxiety to his brother's expression behind the curiosity. "What?"

"I think you better come down to the waiting room," he said. "Gabriel and Ruby are down there watching CNN." This drew Dean's own interest, his eyebrows coming together as Sam led them down the hall, into an elevator, and to the main level of the hospital. Leading him on, Dean eventually spotted Gabriel and Ruby standing below a small corner television, the others in the room also watching. Mostly because, as even Dean could see, the main headline was "Brutal beating of gay man in Burr, Kansas."

"Seriously?" Dean asked, honestly impressed as he came up beside Gabriel. The shorter man smiled at him, Dean focusing his attention on listening to the report.

"… little information from the police at this time," the woman was saying. "Apparently it happened yesterday evening. The man was brutally beaten and dumped in an abandoned building outside the town. When he was found, we're told he was nearly frozen to death and suffering from severe head trauma. He remains in the hospital." The screen was then split into two, a man emerging from the many captions and labels. He was introduced as someone Dean didn't care to remember and was soon commenting on the case.

"This kind of behavior cannot go under the radar any longer," he was saying. "These types of hate crimes  _do_  happen and anyone who's under the impression that such behavior occurs only in underdeveloped countries is absolutely wrong. Be it minorities, women, or LGBTQ members, the United States is not a prime example of protecting the safety and rights of these individuals."

"What do you think of the fact that the police are withholding information from the press?" the woman asked.

"You know Laura," the man shook his head, "it's hard to tell at this point because this story is still developing and no one outside those in Burr would have any idea whether the police took the appropriate actions in investigating this crime. Whether they collected evidence from the crime scene when the man was found or simply pushed the file aside. It's not unheard of that the police forces in small towns like this, after finding out the kind of hate crime it is, would simply drop the file to be buried."

"Do you think this is something the federal government should be investigating?"

"You know, again, it's hard to say at this point. We have to give the local police the chance to try and do their jobs. If-"

"But if there is a danger that those living in the town are… prejudiced, then couldn't in be risky to leave it in their hands?"

"That is true, yes, but now that the story had reached national attention, the pressure on the Burr Police Force  _is_  going to be felt and if they  _don't_  want a federal investigation, they'll do their best to find out who was behind this attack and arrest them accordingly."

"Wow…" Dean looked back to Gabriel.

"I told you I'd do it," he replied smartly.

"But…" Dean furrowed his brows. "Doesn't this mean that there's going to be… reporters and stuff showing up here? I thought you wanted to be the only one to get interviews."

"I do," Gabriel nodded. "I doubt Mrs. Novak is going to be in any position to be talking about this to the press – though if she wants to I guess I can't stop her – and I don't think you're going to be wanting to be doing any big interviews at the moment either, so until we realize just how… big this thing is going to get, just… allow me to be your representation."

"You're the one that sent the story to CNN though, didn't you?" Sam asked.

"No, I posted about it on my website and the right people happened to see it," Gabriel clarified. "I've actually already been offered a reporting job in New York, just today," he appeared very smug, "but I'm going to see this through before accepting it." Or any others he might get.

"I'm so glad that exploiting Cas's abuse is working out so well for you," Dean drawled.

"Something good should come of it."

"Ohmygod!" Chuck's voice echoed into the waiting room, the man himself rushing in a moment later. "Ohmygod! Ohmygod!" He was breathing heavily, huffing with his hands on his knees as he finally found himself crouching before them. He had a crumpled piece of paper in his hands, taking rather too long to catch his breath before he faced them fully. "You'll never guess what happened to me earlier."

"What?" Dean crossed his arms over his chest as he asked.

"I'm the… Burr Newspaper editor, right?" he was still breathing hard, as if he'd run all the way to the hospital (which Dean severely doubted). "I got a call from CNN earlier today and they were asking me about Castiel and what was happening." Dean could see Gabriel's expression going sour. "And when I told them that I knew him, like personally, and that I'd been there for the whole thing, they asked me to write a whole article on it." He held up the sheet of paper. "Look, look! I just emailed it to them!" He kept gasping in air.

"God dammit," Gabriel swore, Dean reaching out and taking the article from Chuck, Sam reading it over his shoulder.

"What are you bitching about?" Ruby reprimanded Gabe. "You're a reporter, he's a writer. Totally different." Sort of.

"I wanted to be in charge of this story," he clarified greedily.

"Well, why don't you two work together or something," Sam recommended, sounding distracted as he continued to read over Dean's shoulder. The article wasn't going over entirely well with the older Winchester however, mostly because Chuck had actually mentioned his  _name_  in it.

"Chuck, why the fuck am I in this?" he asked temperamentally, shoving the article back into his hands, not bothering to finish it. Sam frowned, having wanted to, and grabbed it back out of Chuck's grasp a second later.

"Well… because…" Chuck sounded confused. "You're part of the story."

"How?"

"Because you're… in the pictures…"

"See, I told you it was going to be those pictures," Gabriel nodded knowingly.

Dean was liking this whole situation less and less by the second.

"It  _is_  well written though," Sam commended.

Up on the television, the reporter, "Lauren," started to go on about having just received more information via a source directly from Burr and a close friend of the victim. They all thought Chuck was going to have an orgasm right there as he turned to face the television.

"God dammit…" Dean muttered. Shaking his head, he drowned out the sound of the television, not wanting to hear any more, and turned away. Walking across the waiting room, he headed back to the elevator and up to Cas's room, Sam being the only one to notice him leave. He wasn't sure whether to be angry about the article, and the reporting, and CNN in general, or not. If the story got out there, then the case would definitely be investigated. But both his privacy and definitely Cas's were going to be invaded in order to do it. And then there was Chuck, and Gabriel, who seemed to both be using the horror for their own ends. But, really, could they be blamed for doing so? After all, if someone was going to relay what had happened, wouldn't it be better to be people Dean trusted (or, at least, kind of trusted) to deliver the information? Because if the police weren't going to cooperate, then they'd need voices otherwise to make the truth known.

But he, honestly, wanted nothing to do with it.

He just wanted Cas to wake up…

**oOo**

The story was big news, to say the least. People all over the country were outraged and the pressure on the Burr Police Force was heavy. Already Dean, and all of Cas's friends (and Naomi) had been called in to make a statement. Even Sam, because he'd been there when they'd found Cas, had been directed to do so. To say the station had been abuzz and tense was a bit of an understatement. There'd also been a rather hostile vibe as well, or so Dean had noted. As if those who'd revealed the story were to blame for the watchful eye now being placed all over town.

It was all anyone was talking about, Dean doing his best to remain under the radar since it'd been revealed that "personal photos of the victim with his partner were considered crucial pieces of evidence and have since been seized by the police." Police that, likely, had retrieved them directly from Cas's house and looked at them before Dean had given his statement, which was why he'd garnered a considerable amount more attention from the officers than everyone else. Staring, mostly, and some whispering from those who knew him from high school. Like Gabriel had said, he was basically being forced out of the closet. A fact that, really, didn't bother him inherently. It was mostly the attention that got to him. His home phone was ringing constantly with news agencies clamoring for short interviews, which he was then handing over to Gabriel to filter. Mostly he tried to remain focused on Cas. Bobby, after hearing about all that had happened, had given him the week off, which left him with little to do but go back and forth from his apartment and the hospital. To Cas's room, which almost always seemed to be crowded with two or three other people.

And  _stuff_. People from all over the world were sending shit. Between flowers, cards, random gifts, the room received mail twenty-four seven. Naomi cleaned everything out at the end of each day, with the help of others, and took it all home. Her living room was full, it soon becoming an hour's worth chore to water all the damn plants. But, Dean supposed, there was some good that came of it. Naomi seemed to take comfort from the love and good wishes coming to her son from all over the world. She was continually astounded that so many people could be so thoughtful, Dean secretly rolling his eyes as his privacy got violated over and over again (because people kept mentioning him in their well-wishes). However, with the story came the fact that, well, to those who'd known Cas, his transgression was revealed.

Already a few of his colleagues had flown down to see him, as if that was necessary – even his bosses had sent stuff. And many of his friends had come, proving to Dean just how popular Cas really was in Chicago – that they'd come all that way. But as far as the news was saying, Cas was constantly on the verge of dying and Dean was soon coming to understand that such drama tended to draw people in droves. For the first time since it'd all happened, he actually did feel bad for Michael. Michael, who was still there and had to face over and over and over again his and Cas's mutual friends and acquaintances on the fact that this whole case seemed to lead back to photos of Cas with some other man.

Needless to say, Dean hadn't wanted to be in the middle of it, to face all of Cas's Chicago friends whom he obviously didn't know, and take in their accusing stares because they were all too ignorant of the situation to know what was really happening, yet were passing judgment anyway. Because that was what had happened the one time he'd stuck around for such a reunion, and it'd gotten to him so deeply that he'd had to leave in the middle of the visit. Naomi, as well as Anna and Balthazar, had expressed how sorry they were over what was happening, and had done their best to clear up the situation, but that had ultimately meant revealing more personal information and Dean just… couldn't handle it anymore. His whole life he'd kept to himself, led a pretty private existence, and now all of that was gone.

And to top it off, there were always people in Cas's room! He'd been basically sentenced to his apartment all the fifth day since it'd happened, much to his chagrin. Sam and Ruby were witness to his bad mood, both of them flinching when, as the phone rang for the twelfth time in the span of three hours, Dean yelled in outrage and actually disconnected it by yanking the cord violently from the wall. He'd then slammed his bedroom door closed and stayed shut up there until his cell had rung with a call from Naomi.

"How are you doing honey?" she'd asked him when he'd answered.

"Fine…" he'd tried not to sound too bitchy.

"I'm sorry you've gotten dragged into all of this Dean," she'd continued, as she always did when she saw him nowadays. "It's not fair, what's happening…"

"It's alright Mrs. Novak," he'd assured tightly. "So long as it's helping catch whoever did this to Cas." Which was another sore spot with him. Already he'd been called in as a suspect, much to his "thrilled excitement." He'd had to divulge all that had happened that day, how he and Cas had fought, and how they'd ended up in bed together in the first place (because that was relevant for some reason?). Eventually, he'd been released, though he was still apparently "under investigation," what-the-fuck-ever.

"I just wanted to let you know that things have quieted down around here and that most of Castiel's friends from Chicago have left. Also…" she'd paused for a moment, her breath shaking, and Dean had leaned up in bed. "The doctors came by earlier and told me, privately, that they were going to try and pull Castiel out of his coma later. The medically induced coma. They're not sure if he'll wake up or not, but I thought maybe you would want to be there."

"Really?" Dean's whole chest had jumped.

"Yes, but… but keep it to yourself Dean. The nurses have told everyone to leave Castiel's room but myself. They don't want too many people there when he wakes up. Just family. But… I… I think maybe you should be there."

"Oh…" Dean had furrowed his eyebrows slightly. "Are you sure? I don't want to…"

"I think he'll want to see you Dean."

And he'd figured, who was he to argue with that?

"I'll be there soon," he'd assured, their conversation ending shortly after. With little explanation to Sam, he'd headed out, his brother tagging along despite how Dean had explained he wouldn't be allowed in. As it was, he was currently making his way into Cas's room, Sam left out in the waiting area. Upon entering, he was relieved at the silence that met him. No strangers, no doctors, just the beeping of Cas's machines. Naomi was there as well, obviously, and… Michael.

Michael was  _always_  there.

Dean didn't quite know what to think of the fact that Michael was consistently in Cas's room. Part of him wanted to look at the guy and be like "dude, you two broke up. Get out." But he knew that the situation wasn't that clear cut. Michael, next to Naomi, was the closest thing Cas had to family, subjectively speaking, and they had only just split up. To order him from the room wasn't Dean's place. If he wanted to stay, then he had every right to, and if he wanted to leave, well, he could do that too, which would make him look like kind of a dick (despite what Cas had done). Guy was basically stuck there. And that Naomi would tell him just as well as Dean what was happening wasn't surprising either. Naomi's preference for Cas's significant other irrelevant, they were basically in the position of sharing the role until any clear and concise choice could be made. Because, despite Cas telling Dean he'd ended it with Michael, the break up hadn't been clean (even Dean could infer that) and still had some loose ends to tie up.

Their eyes met across the room, Dean able to deduce that Michael was just as unhappy to see him there. The fact that he was being addressed so by Naomi, being invited in, established that he hadn't simply been some dark mistake in Cas's actions. Others saw the importance he'd played the last few weeks, his value to Cas, which only verified further the depth of the betrayal. Dean wasn't just some one-night hook up. He meant something, which only irked Michael more and more every day.

Dean wondered, swiftly, whether Michael was actually going to try and get Cas back, the thought making the hostility between them even heavier.

"The doctors started weaning him off the drugs this morning," Naomi interrupted the two men's silent exchange, her eyes still trained on her son as Dean broke eye contact with Michael and took up standing at the end of the bed. Naomi sat on the left, Michael on the right. "They said a little while ago that his brain activity has been increasing and that he should be waking up soon." She said as much almost hopefully, that they'd been trying to wake him up that long news to Dean. But he hadn't been in to see him all day.

"Did they say anything about his… brain injury?" Dean didn't know much about it – he wasn't educated enough to know much about it.

"They won't know until he wakes up," Michael verified coldly. "Brain injuries are sensitive and unpredictable. And he wasn't getting a totally sufficient amount of oxygen when he was… left…" In the Whitherpool house.

Dean didn't respond, not particularly wanting to talk to Michael. If Naomi noticed the sensitive attitude between them, she didn't comment. Or, more than likely, didn't care. Her son had almost died. The last thing she cared about was drama he'd created between two other people. That could all be dealt with after he was up and around again. Better. If that was even possible. His brain wasn't the only thing that was severely injured after all. Besides the many bruises and cuts scattered over his entire body, he was also dealing with a few fractured ribs, a sprained wrist, and a cracked hip. The last appeared to be causing the doctors the most concern, aside from the brain injury. Already he'd had pins inserted to help in the healing process, but if it wasn't treated properly, he could have mobility issues for the rest of his life. They were thankful for his age (youth) and that it hadn't been a more severe crack. It was a sensitive area however and they'd implied that he'd probably have to have hip replacement surgery somewhere down the line.

Just thinking about it, that some asshole had caused Cas permanent damage, made Dean tremble with anger.

"Look!" Naomi drew their attention, her body rising from her seat as she stared down at Cas's eyes, which were moving beneath the lids. The facemask had been removed, leaving him bare. And as his eyes twitched into wakefulness, his lips parted slightly, Dean backing up quickly and ducking his head out the door to let the nurse station know that he was coming around.

Going back to the bed, Dean watched intently along with Naomi and Michael, a doctor soon whisking her way into the room. She took up a position beside Dean, watching Cas's progress just as seriously.

It took some minutes, but soon enough those lashes began to twitch, a little of the whites of his eyes becoming visible. His brows pulled together, as if he were in pain, and his chapped, bruised lips opened a little more as his breathing became irregular.

With great heaviness and lethargy, those blue eyes slowly opened.

They blinked slowly, having trouble with the lights, and almost immediately he tried to raise his hand, as if to block the source of the glaring fluorescents.

"Castiel, don't," his mother issued quietly, placing light pressure on his wrist to keep it down. He was still hooked up to multiple machines and it'd simply be easier if he refrained from moving much until he was alert enough to know what he could move and what he couldn't.

Reacting to her voice, his head turned slowly to the right, his eyes continuing to adjust as he peered up at her. His was clearly having visibility issues, but the longer he stared at her, the more he seemed to recognize.

"Mom…?" his voice came out as a croaking whisper, Naomi smiling some as tears came immediately to her eyes. Beside Dean, the doctor was writing furiously.

"Yes honey, it's me," Naomi assured softly, holding his hand gently.

"Wha…?" his eyes moved slowly back and forth over her face, narrowing as he tried to make her out. "Where… where am I?" His voice was hardly audible.

"You're in the hospital honey," she explained delicately. "You were… you were in an accident." A simple way of putting things until they could gauge more accurately what he knew of what had happened.

"Car accident?" Cas asked curiously, his brows pulling together even more severely.

"Um… no…" Naomi replied. "Don't worry about that now honey. Just… focus on waking up, okay? You've been asleep for a few days." He blinked up at her, gulping back the dryness in his throat and trying to re-acclimate himself to being awake.

"What happened…?" He apparently, really, wanted to know.

"Listen to your mother Cas," Michael's voice interjected, Cas's head slowly turning to take him in on the other side. "One thing at a time, alright?" He smiled down at him.

"Michael…" Cas determined, his lips pulling slightly at the corners as he took him in. His hand twitched, as if he had half a mind to reach up to him, and Dean felt his own hands tighten into fists inside his pockets. He was tense, waiting, and kept his voice silent in attempts to make this process as easy for Cas as possible.

"Yeah, I'm here," Michael assured, his own eyes seeming a little wet as a relieved, shaking sigh left his chest.

"You… and my mother?" Another curious look overcame his face. "Did you… call her…?" his question was odd, Michael glancing over the bed at Naomi, who was doing the same to him. Dean's chest tightened in apprehension.

"No Castiel, he didn't… call me," she explained, his head slowly going back to look at her. "Honey… do you know where you are?" Not in reference to the hospital, but his actual, geographical location.

"I'm…" Cas took a deep breath, as if it took him a moment to figure the question. "I'm in Chicago… right?"

Dean felt his whole body go cold.

"No honey," Naomi shook her head, Dean calming his nerves and assuring himself that, for someone who had suffered severe brain trauma, a little confusion was probably understandable. "You're in Burr."

"… Burr…?" Cas's brows kept pulling closer and closer together as his blue eyes fell away to consider the answer. "Why am I…?" He seemed to ask further questions, but his gaze finally caught the two figures standing at the end of the bed. Peering at them, he took in the doctor well enough, his attention focusing mostly on Dean. He stared, and  _stared_ , blinking multiple times as that adorably curious look he tended to get finally dropped down on his bruised expression.

"Dean…" he deduced finally. "Dean… Winchester?" The use of his last name wasn't encouraging, Dean pursing his lips. "Why…?" he flicked his gaze, the fastest movement he'd made since waking up, back to his mother. "Why is Dean Winchester here?"

As if the whole room were collapsing in on him, Dean felt his body empty of everything. All emotion and reaction to be replaced by shock. Null, numbing shock. His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open some as Cas flicked his blue gaze back to look at him. A gaze that didn't know him, didn't trust him, and was foreign.

"Uh…" Naomi looked between the two of them, her words throttled as the doctor cleared her throat.

"Castiel," she addressed him directly, his gaze, which was getting clearer and clearer all the time, going to her. "What's the last thing you remember?"

No, this couldn't be happening. Dean couldn't believe this could actually be happening. This was the type of thing that only happened in cliché movies and books. Not in real life. People didn't just… forget…

"I…" Cas considered the question, his thoughts obviously jumbled as he tried to recall the last memory. "I…" he looked to Michael. "We were at the downtown festival last night, right?" He wanted verification. "The Halloween one."

"October," Michael stated the obvious, looking up to the doctor. "That was just this last October."

"W-why?" Cas's eyes had bugged, fear shooting through him as his heart monitor audibly spiked. "When… when is it? What month is it?"

"Calm down Castiel," the doctor said in her most soothing voice. "Everything is alright. Patients who have suffered head trauma sometimes have temporary memory loss." This didn't visibly make him feel any better, his gaze snapping between his mother and Michael for an answer to his original question.

"It's December honey," Noami assured as she squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Just two months. It's Christmas Eve."

"Christmas Eve?" he asked in disbelief.

"That's why you're in Burr," she explained. "Because you were spending Christmas with us this year, remember?" This did appear to register to him, as if he was trying to pull together the fact. Looking to the window suddenly, his lips parted as he took in the snowy landscape. The empty horizon, dotted only with houses and stretches of field. Not the busy skyscrapers of Chicago.

His eyes then went back to Dean, that confusion settling into his gaze once again.

Dean, however, didn't know what he was supposed to say. His mind was a blank, his throat drying of all possible words as the reality of the situation strangled him. Took his heart, ripped it from his chest, and smashed it into the tiled floor with the heel of a cruel, heavy boot. Over and over with every breath he took.

Neither Naomi nor Michael knew what to say either. What were they supposed to do? Tell Cas that he'd been having an affair with Dean only one week prior, and that they'd gotten so serious that it justified Dean being there? It'd sound absolutely ridiculous, especially when considering the history between Dean and Cas besides. After all, how much had it taken for Cas to even accept the fact that Dean had been interested in him in the first place? The suspicious, confused expression on his face currently spelled it all out.

Dean felt hot, and suffocated, but he didn't know what to do.

"Dean, were you…" Cas started slowly. "Were you involved with… with what happened to me?" Was that slight accusing in his look? And doubt? And hurt? Did he think Dean had somehow… done this to him?

"No…" Dean finally managed to find shaky, uncertain speech. "I…" What could he say? "I found you," he gulped, supposing it wasn't a total lie. But his speech, every word that came from him, felt empty and meaningless. "After the… the accident, I found you." Did that justify him being there?

"Oh…" Cas replied, still clearly uncertain. "Do I… owe you my life? Did you… save me?"

"I don't…" Dean couldn't take it anymore, that unfamiliar stare. "I don't know," he shook his head, backing away from the bed. "I don't know anything." Breath trembling, he stared at Cas a moment longer, trying to remember how those blue eyes had seen him only the week before. But it was so incredibly painful that he felt he had no choice but to leave. Because the look wasn't the same. It wasn't the same at all.

Turning to the door, he ran. He was walking, but still he ran. He pushed himself through the door, ignoring how Naomi called after him painfully. Instead, unable to see those who watched his hasty escape in concern, he somehow found his way back to the waiting room. He didn't know why, or how he even got there, but upon seeing him, Sam rose from his seat, registering his distress and immediately going on to ask what had happened – what was wrong. Dean didn't hear any of it, his brain seeming to throb in his head, pushing the reality of the situation slowly through his system. Until, finally, Sam's hands on his shoulders, the truth made its way to his voice.

"He doesn't remember," he admitted brokenly, his eyes closing painfully as Sam listened. "He doesn't remember me. He forgot us…" he shook his head. "I don't mean anything to him."

**oOo**

There was a knock on his door. He didn't immediately answer, instead continuing to sip his beer from where he sat on his lopsided couch, staring at the black television screen. The rapping became more persistent however and, supposing he had little choice but to eventually get up, Dean sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Flicking on a lamp on his way by – because he'd be sitting in only the vague glow that emanated from midnight snow – he went to the door and slowly pulled it open.

Michael.

"What do you want?" he asked rather harshly, wondering only fleetingly how the guy had found out where he lived and supposing it probably wasn't that hard to figure it out in small town Burr. "I kind of want to be alone." Which was why he'd, not so gracefully, kicked Sam and Ruby out for the night. He just needed to be on his own, if only to try and figure shit out.

"We need to talk," Michael said coldly, the hostility between them as heavy as ever. However, where it seemed hot on Michael's end, Dean felt himself rather chilled with it. "Can I come in?"

"Why the fuck not?" Dean asked as he stepped away, opening his apartment up to the other man as he headed back to his couch and slammed himself back down into the cushions with his beer, which he picked back up immediately.

Michael made his way in slowly, looking around the dim apartment with what Dean registered as pursed disapproval. Not that he was going out of his way to try and impress the guy, rich snob that he probably was (that was an assumption, but hey, Dean honestly couldn't bring himself to check himself).

"What do you want?" Dean asked a second later, drawing Michael's attention back his way. Sighing, the taller man slowly made his way across the room until he was sitting on the opposite side of the couch. Looking him up and down, Dean couldn't help remembering how he and Cas had previously crowded the couch with their more intimate actions. Maybe he was a little drunk, he'd had quite a few beers after all, and maybe that was why he then decided to voice as much.

"We had sex there," he mentioned shortly, eyeing the cushion on which Michael sat. "Just so you know." He took another sip of his beer, Michael glancing away in abrupt irritation, his expression tightening as he took a slow, deliberate, controlled breath.

"Yeah, well, Cas doesn't remember any of that," Michael replied, tone chilly, and Dean took the jab about as well as the other had taken his. "Which is actually what I've come to talk to you about."

"The doctor says he could get his memory back," Dean clarified, prickly as ever.

"Well, right now," Michael made perfectly clear, "he doesn't have any idea what you two did together." Dean had a bad feeling about where this was going. After all, Michael hadn't shown up to offer his blessing in their happy relationship despite Cas not remembering any of it.

"The photos have been mentioned in the news, my name with them," Dean continued persistently. "He'll find out. You can't hide it from him."

Michael huffed. "I'm not going to keep it from him," he replied tightly. "However, that doesn't change the fact that he, at the moment, doesn't remember. And I don't think it's a good idea to overload him with something like that. At least not yet."

"Why do you think I'm here and not at the hospital?" Dean asked smartly. "Give him a few days, then tell him what's been going on." Because, whether Michael liked it or not, he  _would_  find out. The media would make sure of that.

"I will tell him," Michael made the clear distinction that he'd be the one to do it, Dean looking over at him with narrowed eyes. "However, I don't think it's a good idea that you… be involved in his life anymore."

"Excuse me?" Dean scoffed, leaning forward as he slammed his beer down on the end table. "If I remember correctly, he left you for me." Michael clicked his tongue in irritation. "He told me he loved me. You and him are done."

"Not as far as Cas is concerned," Michael snapped, looking back at him. "The Cas in that hospital room recognizes me as the person he's with, not you." Dean glared. "He doesn't know you and I'm doubting he'll be too apt to accept someone he doesn't even know as the man he's in love with."

"You don't know much about the history between Cas and I, do you?" Dean asked, his tone aggressive. "Because it took all of a few  _days_  for him to forget about you and throw himself at me. He's been in love with me since high school, and I'm betting those feelings didn't just evaporate into nothing."

"Stay away from him," Michael blatantly threatened, his whole posture seeming to grow, as did Dean's. "Or do you want to be a home wrecker twice over?"

"How's that going for you, by the way?" Dean asked. "Dealing with the fact that the boyfriend who supposedly loved you so much cheated on you numerous times before dumping your ass?" He smiled bitterly. "Makes me question how much he really does love you."

"You were a mistake," Michael ground out angrily. "I know it, all his friends know it, and as soon as he realizes what he did, he'll know it too." Dean's teeth clamped together. "You know just as well as I do that Cas only slept with you because he was chasing a memory. I'm betting," he leaned forward slightly, "that you know just as well as I do how out of your league he is."

"Watch it douchebag. You're in my house."

"And what a quaint little  _apartment_  it is," Michael hissed. "Did you know that Cas and I live in a top-floor penthouse? I'm betting that the rent for my half is more than you make in a month." Dean growled. "And you were going to move in with him? Or was it that he was going to take you in? Because I'm positive that, with your education, there's no job you could get that would equal his style of living."

"That's really none of your fucking business."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Michael replied dangerously. "It is  _my_  business. How much do you really know about Cas? Really?" He didn't back down from Dean's glare. "Did you know that we were planning to purchase a house in Venice? That Italy is one place in the entire world that Cas has always wanted to go? He was looking at real estate out there. We were going to elope there this spring. It was going to be our vacation house. And do you know that, without our combined income, he won't be able to get the kind of house he wants. Because Cas is an artistic person and can't function well in a place where he's not properly inspired.

"Did you know that I'm up for a promotion inside the company we work for? And that after I get my raise, Cas was going to quit so he could pursue painting? Because he's sensible enough to know that being an unsupported artist is irresponsible, so he's been waiting since he graduated to be in a position to do what he always wanted. What chance does he stand of being able to do that with  _you_? You, who  _he'll_  have to support if you stay in his life.

"Or how about this," Michael continued on unrelentingly. "How about the fact that because he came here and got involved with you, his entire  _family_  fell apart. He's in the hospital because of the fact that he ended up in  _bed_  with  _you_. Do you know how hard he's worked to hold his family together? And because you had to seduce him into sleeping with you, his entire  _life_  has fallen apart.

"You're  _poison_  Dean," he hissed. "And if you really care at  _all_  about him, you'll stay away from him."

"You're an asshole," Dean growled, unable to deny how such words had affected him, the truth of them ringing clear despite how he tried to argue it.

"No, I'm just being honest," Michael rebuked. "Now it's time you were too. You're  _nothing_  to him but a fling he indulged in because of an old high school crush. You can't give him anything that he wants. And if you end up with him, you'll make him  _miserable_." He paused. "Just like you already have."

Dean could feel his chest building with anger, his hands prickling with it. But despite how his nostrils flared, and his teeth clenched, he couldn't do anything. Because nothing Michael said was false. He couldn't give Cas those things; he had… seduced him… hadn't he? And… and it was because they'd been caught sleeping together that this whole horrible, terrible situation had happened in the first place.

Ten years before, when Cas had come to him and expressed something most people were never brave enough to say, Dean had rejected and hurt him. That rejection had haunted Cas for years afterward. And now…

He just kept  _hurting_  him.

"Do us all a favor," Michael muttered as he stood, "and just. Stay. Away." He took in Dean's gaze for a few seconds longer, only satisfied when, guilty and defeated, Dean tore his eyes back and looked to the floor.

Supposing that was answer enough, Michael straightened, took a deep breath, and headed to the door. Opening and closing it without a word, he was gone, Dean left to sit and ponder everything that had been said.

Teeth grinding, he reached out, grabbed up his beer, and threw it across the room. With a shattering crash, it splashed against the wall, glass spraying out in every direction.

Sitting back in the couch, Dean covered his face with his hands and tried to hold back his grief.


	16. Leave Me Behind

He knew it was cheesy, but for some reason, when he'd seen the tiny blue flowers poking out of the pot near the corner of the flower shop, they'd reminded him of those blue eyes. That'd been reason enough to buy them. As it was, he'd called the hospital before going over, checking to see if anyone was there. The nurse had said that no, Mrs. Novak and the other gentleman had left. Castiel was asleep and the doctors had preferred he not be disturbed.

Dean figured it was the perfect opportunity.

Therefore, with the pot held securely in his gloved hands, he made his way through the hospital halls at near seven in the morning. He passed only a few nurses, who thought nothing of someone taking flowers to a room. And when he reached Cas's, he knocked, relieved when no one came to the door. Softly pushing himself inside, he saw that the lights were dimmed, only a single strip on behind the bed.

Cas was lying there, asleep, no longer hooked up to any tubes or monitors. It was relieving to see. Despite still possessing bruises and scratches, the swelling in his face was nearly gone. He was looking much more like himself, which left a bittersweet weight in Dean's chest as he quietly approached the bed.

There weren't any other gifts in the room at the moment – the mail hadn't yet come in – so Dean was able to set the small parcel on the table beside Cas's head. It wasn't much, and there wasn't a card, but Dean felt better knowing he'd at least given him… something. Even if he'd never know who it'd been from. He'd wake up, see it, and lump it together with all the rest.

He could be satisfied with that.

Shoving it a little further back on the table, he deemed it appropriately situated before turning back to Cas's sleeping form. Part of him wanted to reach out and, if only for the last time, run his fingers along that strong jaw, which was freshly shaven now. That sharp nose and those somewhat drooping, dog eyes. That lip, which seemed to stretch up into those delicate points. But he knew he shouldn't. Cas wasn't exactly a delicate sleeper, but he'd wake up to that. Especially in a strange place like this.

If Dean knew one thing about him, he knew that.

Taking a shaky breath, he continued to stare at him, knowing he should leave, yet his feet remained planted in one spot. Part of him wanted to wake up the sleeping patient and just tell him. Tell him everything. But he knew, whether it was right or wrong to do so, that he only felt that way for selfish reasons. And then, of course, Michael and his… "reasoning" kept rearing its ugly head. Dean tried not to feel guilty, to argue that Cas would never feel that way about him, but then he remembered that with this Cas, what few memories they'd made together were gone.

This Cas didn't know him.

If he'd know him at all…

Shaking his head, Dean finally pulled his eyes away, about to force himself to leave. Hands shoved into his pockets, he stepped back, turning away with every intention of never looking back.

Until –

"Dean?" That voice caught him cold, stopping him in his tracks. "Dean Winchester?"

"Uh…" He slowly turned, supposing he couldn't just keep walking as if he hadn't heard. "Hey…" Those blue eyes were staring blearily up at him, brows furrowed above as that head cocked curiously to the side. "I didn't mean to wake you up," Dean continued, his shoulders dropping some.

"It's alright…" Cas replied guardedly, his gaze becoming suspicious as he eyed Dean. That curiosity still overshadowed everything however, which Dean supposed didn't surprise him.

Noticing the potted flowers on the table, Cas flicked his attention to them, even more wonder washing over his expression, if at all possible. "Did you bring these?" he asked as he reached out to finger one of the small petals.

"Uh, yeah," Dean shrugged. "I hadn't… brought you anything yet and I… felt bad…" Partially true.

"Forget Me Nots," Cas easily deduced, finally looking back at Dean as his hand fell to his side.

"You know flowers?" Dean asked with a cocked eyebrow, his arms coming up to cross over his chest.

"Yes, some," Cas verified, looking again to the small display. "I try to keep some in my apartment in Chicago. There's so much… concrete and metal in the city. They remind me of Kansas." He shook his head, blinking a few times – as if warding off a headache – before looking once again to Dean. "You said you… you found me? After I was…"

"Well…" Dean sighed. "What do you know about what happened?"

"I don't remember any of it," which might have been a blessing in disguise, "but I guess I was… attacked?" He looked up at Dean. "My mother won't… tell me much. And I haven't been allowed to watch the news or anything. I hear it's… it's all over the country, what happened to me."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "It's a pretty big deal. Lot's of, uh, gay activists are pretty pissed." Dean chuckled awkwardly, taken aback when Cas looked abruptly away from him. Oh right, this Cas wasn't used to Dean Winchester acknowledging his sexuality so flippantly. "It's helped though," he tried to breeze on past the subject. "All the publicity. The police in Burr can't slack on the investigation with so many eyes on them."

"I suppose," Cas replied, staring down at his hands in his lap. "Where… where did you find me?" He glanced back up at him.

"Uh, well, in the… the old Whitherpool house. Someone… Whoever did it dumped you there…" It sounded so horrible, discussing it like that.

"Why were you at the old Whitherpool place?" Cas asked shrewdly.

"Well…" Dean shrugged. "You'd gone missing earlier… earlier that day and a bunch of us went looking for you. And that's where you were, so…" Cas got that excessively curious look again, Dean clearing his throat awkwardly as he stared down at his boots.

"Who was looking for me?" Cas didn't understand. "Why were you… involved in that?" The suspicion dropped again across his face, Dean uncertain how to explain such a strange thing without giving anything away.

"I just… happened to been around when… when Chuck and Samandriel were talking about it," he lied, somewhat, "and they seemed pretty concerned so… And it was cold and… I just… figured no one should be out in something like that…" He couldn't face Cas as he lied, hoping that the other's general lack of social knowledge would easily excuse his own behavior.

"That seems… awfully convenient…" Cas decided, Dean sighing.

"I wasn't involved in what happened to you Cas," he did look up then, addressing the subject directly. "I'd never hurt you. I just… I found you, that's all." Because he knew perfectly well why Cas was suspicious of him. And he didn't entirely blame him either.

"I didn't mean to…" Cas tried to make up for his distrust.

"You don't need to apologize," Dean waved him off. "You have… every right to suspect me. I just want you to know, from my mouth, that I didn't lay a hand on you." Not violently anyway. "I couldn't do that."

"You never did… did you…" Cas's blue eyes fell away again. "You were always the one that never touched me…"

"Cas…" Dean tried to ignore how his heart pulled, the memories from the last few weeks filtering in and out of his head. But they meant nothing. Nothing because Cas couldn't remember them.

"I believe you Dean," he turned back up to him. "I do."

Dean pursed his lips, gulping back his own emotions.

"Thanks Cas," he said gruffly. "That… means a lot." Really. It was at that moment, his chest torn, that he realized he had one selfish act he needed to indulge in. Just one. "Um…" his voice shook some. "I… I want you to know, Cas, that… that I'm sorry." His voice cracked a little, despite how he tried to remain in control. "I'm sorry for… for everything."

"Dean…" Cas shook his head. "You never… you never did anything."

Dean grinned bitterly. "That's what you said last time too…" he admitted.

"We've spoken since I've been in Burr?" Cas asked quickly, clearly surprised.

"Yeah, a little," Dean nodded. "And, uh, I apologized then too, but I know you don't remember anything that's happened and if you… if you take anything away from me talking to you today, it's just that I'm… that I'm sorry." Cas looked about to speak, but Dean kept going. "You've already forgiven me once, so there's no reason to do it again," he offered a small, sincere smile, "but… I just wanted  _you_  to know that."

"Dean…" Oh how he adored the sound of his name on those lips.

"I know, I know," Dean smiled fully, though it felt painful to do so. "You forgive your first love anything, right?" Cas blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open slightly. Clearly, he was taken aback at Dean knowing what he'd been on the verge of saying, despite the fact that it'd already been established that they'd spoken at least once before. "Just do me a favor Cas," he continued, his voice once again a little rough as he held back the emotion threatening to spill out of him. "Get better, okay? And don't  _ever_  come back here." He took a shaking breath. "This place is poison."

"Dean…?"

"Bye Cas," he waved shortly, stiffly, taking in those questioning blue eyes for only a moment longer before forcing his body to turn and take him to the door. The steps he took then were some of the longest in his life, only the guilt weighing so heavily in his chest giving him the willpower to reject the luxury of looking back. Pushing himself out into the hall, he left Cas behind.

Or, rather, he tried to let him go.

**oOo**

"He doesn't  _remember_  anything," Michael said a little shortly, the two police officers who were standing at the end of Cas's bed appearing slightly uncomfortable at the irritation in his tone. "It doesn't matter how many questions you ask him, he's not going to know."

"It's alright Michael," Cas assured gently, reaching up and taking his hand. "I don't mind…"

"We have to go through protocol," the female officer offered apologetically. "We're not meaning to disturb you. And we want you to know we're doing all we can to catch the people who did this." She was earnest, young, perhaps one of the few who wasn't completely locked down by Burr's prejudice.

"We just need to know if there's anyone  _you_  know of that would want to hurt you," the older officer asked, his tone far more guarded.

"I… haven't been home in ten years…" Cas replied with a shrug. "The only possible people that I could offer you are… the people I went to high school with. And I… I don't want to accuse any of them." Even if they had been terrible once, they could have changed, or so Cas figured. Dean Winchester had to be proof enough of that.

"I don't think an attack like this could possibly be attributed to a high school grudge," the older officer replied flatly. "Thank you for your time Mr. Novak," he nodded, clearly wanting to leave. "We'll keep you updated on the case."

"Thank you," Cas glanced downward, missing the sympathetic look the woman cast him as the two cops left. Sighing, he dropped his hands into his lap, uncertain what he himself felt on the whole mess.

"I didn't like that male cop," Naomi said a moment later.

"Me either," Michael agreed.

"They're just trying to do their jobs," Cas defended. "With all the publicity you've said this case has been bringing in, I don't blame them for being… upset. It's a lot of pressure to put on them."

"You always think way too good of everyone," Michael determined as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. "Well, I guess it won't matter soon anyway. They can give us phone updates." Because they were headed back to Chicago that afternoon. Michael and Naomi had packed up all of Cas's things earlier that day and they were currently waiting for him to be discharged. He was thankful to be back in his own clothes and out of the revealing hospital gown, and wanted nothing more than to just be in his own bed. He hurt all over – his head, his chest, his hip and wrist. Besides that, he was on so many drugs that the appeal of being somewhere more familiar was just something he couldn't refuse. He'd hopefully sleep through most of the plane ride and be in bed before he'd even woken up.

"Mother," Cas looked up to Naomi. "Are you sure you want to come… to come with us?" She'd already said that she was, no questions asked. Cas would need help, especially with Michael at work, and she was determined to be there for him. "What about Father?"

"Your father…" Naomi shook her head. "I told you we're not speaking." She reached out and took her son's hand, casting him a sympathetic look. "You're my biggest concern now Castiel."

"I'm sorry," he said, "for what happened between you and Father. I… I can't help but feel responsible." His mother had given him the shorthand of the situation – that his father, while he'd been in Burr, had discovered his homosexuality and the fact had thoroughly split the family apart.

"You haven't done anything Castiel," she assured. "You father is misguided and I can… only hope that he'll see the right path soon." Cas nodded, taking in her gaze and becoming astounded, not for the first time, at how accepting she was of his relationship with Michael. He never would have expected it from her.

"So… who brought in these?" Michael had stood and was examining the numerous gifts Cas had received in the mail that day. Specifically, the Forget Me Nots without a tag. "It doesn't say anything about who sent them."

"Oh, those… those just…" For some reason that Cas couldn't explain, his throat closed up as he tried to explain the truth. Looking at Michael standing there, looking back at him – he felt that, for some reason, he didn't need to know who they were from. The explanation would be too long and Cas found that… that it was painful for him to talk about it. Remembering high school maybe… "They came in with… everything else. I don't know who they're from." His eyes fell away, to his hands again, and he didn't see the way his mother had narrowed her eyes. She knew the kind of flower they were, and was easily able to tell her son was lying (as could Michael), but didn't dare voice what her intuition was telling her.

Michael pursed his lips, able to soon enough deduce the source of the flowers as well. It irked him considerably, the fact that, even without his memories, Cas was willing to lie to him where Dean Winchester was concerned. Like it didn't take even a second thought for him to do so.

"Well," Michael shrugged, "there's no point in keeping them if we don't even know who they're from. We can't even send them a thank you." Cas had looked up hastily at that. "We're donating most of it to other hospital patients anyway. Might as well add this one to the pile." Because there was no way all the flowers and gifts could come back to Chicago with them.

"No!" Cas actually reached out and grabbed the small pot of Forget Me Nots right out from under Michael's hold. Setting them in his lap, he gripped the pot tightly, staring down into the small blue blossoms fondly. "I want to keep this one," he admitted. "We can give away all the others, but I'm keeping this one."

Michael tried to ignore how his chest tightened. "You said it yourself Cas that you didn't even know who they were-"

"I'm keeping this one," he actually snapped then, quite uncharacteristically of him. "It's coming to Chicago with us." He eyed Michael coldly, whose eyes had widened at being reprimanded. Cas never took that tone with him, which he too seemed to realize a moment later. "I'm sorry Michael," he shook his head, looking back down at the flowers wearily. "I'm just… so tired…"

"I- I know," Michael gulped. "It's okay," he sat back down next to Cas. "I'll… get a special box for the flowers and make sure they get shipped to your apartment."

"No," Cas shook his head. "They're coming on the plane with me."

Michael's mouth actually fell open then, Cas quite unaware of the fact as he stared down into the petals. On his other side, Naomi's expression tightened in anxiety, her own nerves snapping.

Initially, she'd agreed with Michael that telling Cas what had happened while he'd been in Burr might be a bad idea. At least, in the beginning. She hadn't wanted to upset her son in his delicate state and, well, she didn't mind Michael. She didn't have a real preference, really, on who her son spent his time with. And he'd woken up knowing Michael, so she'd thought that perhaps it hadn't been a terrible idea to simply… let him remain as he'd thought he'd been. The doctors had advised that he try to remember what he'd forgotten on his own, which had led Naomi to her own silence. After all, if Cas was going to remember, then, well, he'd remember. And if he didn't, she'd tell him. But she just didn't know when she should consider it the right time to do so.

Maybe after he eventually saw the news and realized Dean was more involved than any of them had revealed.

Dean… She didn't know what to do about Dean. The young man was clearly heartbroken, which made her feel even worse about keeping the truth from her son. After all, Castiel had… he had chosen Dean. And part of her also argued that, though he didn't remember doing so, he ought to know he'd made such a huge decision. She'd heard him do it after all, reveal to them that he'd loved Dean more than he'd ever loved Michael. And as she watched him stare down into those flowers, she found herself able to easily see that what he'd said was probably true.

But his memory, and the fact that he seemed quite content being with Michael… Was it her place to reveal something like that?

She didn't know…

"Hey," a familiar voice echoed from the doorway, Chuck and Samandriel soon coming into the room. Anna and Balthazar had already headed back to Chicago with some of Castiel's other friends that had come down to see him, volunteering to ready his apartment for his return as well as make accommodations for Naomi. Though she'd be spending a majority of her time at Castiel's apartment, she'd technically be "staying" with Anna. Not only to give Castiel and Michael some privacy, but because she honestly didn't know how long she'd be in Chicago and Anna had an extra room. She'd happily volunteered to let Naomi stay there until she could get her own life in line.

Because with Jim to deal with, she was more uncertain about what she was doing than she had been in over thirty years.

"Chuck, Samandriel," Cas greeted them, his eyes lighting up some. He'd seen them one other time since he'd woken up, though they'd assured him that they'd hung out plenty of times since he'd come to Burr. To him, however, it was like meeting them again for the first time in ten years, which was a small kind of happiness for him despite how he failed to really show it.

"Wow, look at you," Samandriel grinned as they came in and stood at the end of his bed. "Sitting up and everything. You look a lot better."

"Thanks," Cas said, self-consciously reaching up and fingering the scab over the bridge of his nose. At which point his mother batted his hand away with a scolding frown.

"Your mom said you were heading back to Chicago tonight, so we thought we ought to drop by and see you before you left," Chuck explained. "Though you did mention, last week, that we could come up and visit you." He waggled his eyebrows knowingly.

"Did I?" Cas asked with a sigh. "I'd like that."

"It'll have to wait until this case is settled though," Chuck started proudly. "I'm the main journalist for your story you know, what with me knowing you and everything." He appeared suddenly sheepish. "I'm not trying to exploit you or anything. I just want to make sure whoever did this to you gets what they deserve."

"I know," Cas blinked reassuringly. "I would never think that of you Chuck. Besides, I'll probably need someone to tell me all that's been happening, since I clearly have no idea."

"Give it time," Michael assured. "You could still remember. Until then, it's better you try to work through it on your own." Cas sighed and nodded, missing the looks Samandriel, Chuck, and Naomi all shared. They all knew perfectly well that there was more to Michael's concern than that. And Naomi was even more torn over whether she should allow her son to be manipulated so by his supposed boyfriend. She was just so uncertain what was best.

But the truth would come out eventually, they all knew that. Even if Michael was pushing it as far back as possible.

"What's up with the plant?" Samandriel asked abruptly, gesturing to the way Cas was practically hugging it to his chest. "Those Forget Me Nots? Who's that from?" He didn't immediately notice the way the atmosphere in the room dropped. "Kind of ironic, huh, that someone would get you those."

"Yes, I suppose…" Cas replied, looking down at the flowers curiously.

Michael looked miserable.

"Hello," another voice entered the conversation, everyone turning in their seats to watch as Cas's doctor walked in, a bright smile on her face. "How's everyone doing?" she continued as she came up to stand beside Naomi, looking down at Cas. "You seem to be doing well."

"I suppose I feel adequate," Cas determined honestly.

"Well…" the doctor laughed a bit to herself, "that's better than when you came in." She then glanced down at her clipboard. "So, I'm here to discharge you, but before that, let's go over how you're going to treat yourself till you're well," she eyed him warningly. "All your files are being sent to Chicago, but if you have any questions, especially about your head, feel free to call me," she handed him her card, which Cas gladly took. "Your wrist should heal up fine, as should those ribs, but you need to be extra careful on that hip. It's not the worst it could be, but hip injuries are always delicate. Make sure you're using a walker or, if you feel up to it, a cane for the next few months. We don't want any unnecessary pressure on that hip, alright?  _No_  rigorous activity." He nodded, Chuck snickering like a teenager. "We'll have someone in Chicago call you to schedule your checkup, but your prescriptions should hold you over until then. So," she took a huffing breath, "unless you have any questions for me, I don't see why we should keep you here any longer."

"No, there's nothing," Cas verified. "Thank you," he nodded, "for taking such good care of me."

"That's my job," she smiled. "Get well Castiel." Smiling shortly to everyone else in the room, she soon left, Michael rising from his seat to grab the wheelchair propped up against the wall. Unfolding it, he then easily reached up under Cas, despite objections that he could do it himself, and placed him in the less than cushioned seat.

"Michael," Naomi addressed him, writing a quick note for the flowers still remaining that the staff could distribute them as they deemed fit, "why don't you go pull the car around," she handed him her keys. "I'll take Castiel down." He nodded, seeing no viable objection, and was soon headed out.

"Hey," Chuck and Samandriel smiled down at their old high school friend, "we'll keep you updated," Samandriel was the one speaking, "so make sure to get better." Cas nodded, the three sharing in a short yet poignant farewell before Chuck and Samandriel headed out of the room as well, leaving only Cas and Naomi as she pulled on her jacket, purse, and began to push him out of the room.

"We didn't bring you up a coat," she frowned as they reached the door.

"That's alright," Cas shrugged. "I'm only getting into the car." His mother accepted his reasoning, his wheelchair soon rolling out into the hallway. Looking back over his shoulder, Cas gripped tighter to the plant in his hands, a frown creasing his lips.

"What?" Naomi asked, slowing when she noticed the look on his face.

"I…" Cas sighed, turning back around to stare down the hall. "I just… I feel like I'm… leaving something behind…" The way he said it, however, didn't come across to Naomi as if he'd simply forgotten something in his room. No, his deep voice was far too heavy, too oddly hurt, to imply something so simple. Pursing her lips, she tried to think of something to say, the right thing, but no words came. Instead, reaching down, she ran her hand through her son's hair comfortingly, continuing to push the chair as he gripped the Forget Me Nots a little tighter.

**oOo**

Slamming his pencil down on the table, Cas closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers into his temples. He was frustrated, extremely frustrated. He hadn't had such issues with attempting to create anything since, well, high school. No, that was a lie. Probably early college. It wasn't so much that he couldn't draw (or paint), but that every time he did, it came out the same. Not carbon copies necessarily, but the subject matter was the same thing over and over and over again. He just couldn't get those lines out of his head. Those imprinted, sharp, familiar lines.

Reaching up, he tore the page from the canvas, crumpled it up, and tossed it across his studio. Standing, he took his cane from where it'd been sitting against his easel before hobbling his way over to the window. There, snow pattering against the glass, he looked down at the plant almost accusingly.

Maybe he needed to move it again.

Picking up the small pot of Forget Me Nots under his free arm, he turned and looked around the studio, eyes narrowed as he tried to find a better place for them. Eventually, as if sensing that maybe they just needed to be sitting on a different side of the room, he limped his way to the other side of the large windows lining the wall and set it down there. Stepping back, he stared at it, sighed, and rubbed his temple again.

At first, he'd had the plant downstairs, in the main part of the penthouse. It'd stayed there for a few days, but every time Michael had come in the room, he'd looked at it like it was some kind of fungus growing out of the walls. Cas had considered simply throwing it away, but the mere idea of doing so had sent his heart into such a frenzy that he'd eventually decided to take it up to his studio and let it grow there. However, it didn't seem to matter where he put it, the balance in the room was always off. He just couldn't find the right place for it.

Part of him argued that the plant was to blame for his most recent artistic failures. That every time he looked at it, he saw Dean Winchester's sad expression as he'd walked from the hospital room, which then led his hands over and over again to sketch those familiar features. So, for a while, he'd stashed the plant under a table in the corner, even going so far as to drape a cloth off the edge so he couldn't see it. But even then it'd been as if the little flowers had been looking at him, so he'd brought it back out into the light.

What he should do, the responsible thing, is throw it away. Get rid of it. Because these Dean issues, or, rather, his obsession with the subject, hadn't been a problem since before he'd graduated undergrad. For many years in high school, Dean had been the only thing he'd drawn, and in college he'd nearly allowed himself to continue along the streak. However, he'd eventually seen how unhealthy such an obsession had been and simply refused to draw altogether. It'd been a dark, painful school year, one in which he'd limited himself only to general education classes and generally never picked up a sketchpad.

The summer following, he'd slowly found himself able to find interest in other subjects, his pencil finding new paths. However, Dean's image had haunted him for a few years after that until, finally, he was able to move on. After that, he'd been unable to draw Dean at all.

Which was why his current predicament was so utterly ridiculous! So he saw Dean one time,  _once_ , and suddenly he couldn't draw anything else? It was absurd and he just… he refused to fall again into the pattern of getting some kind of sick satisfaction out of drawing that face. He wasn't in love with Dean anymore.

He wasn't!

So where was this coming from?

No, he could draw something else.

Hobbling back to his easel, he sat down again, took a deep breath, and picked up his pencil. Touching lead to paper, he drew one line. Just one.

Dropping his pencil again, he growled and violently ripped another page away, refusing to acknowledge the line that had appeared to be a perfect representation of that cheek bone down to chin.

Crumpling up the page with unnecessary gusto, he chucked it across the room, unaware that someone had encroached upon his company.

"Uh… are you alright?" Michael asked by the entrance, standing just inside dressed in his suit for work, his briefcase in hand, coat hanging over his arm.

"Yes," Cas verified with a sigh. "Just… having some trouble getting something to come." Or something  _other than_  a certain Dean Winchester of Burr. Michael chuckled however, having seen Cas in previous moods of artist's block and knowing that it was one of the few things that could really pull any sort of emotional reaction out of his boyfriend.

"You'll find something," he assured. "It's only been three days since we got back after all. Don't push yourself. Your brain needs to heal too, remember."

"You're right I suppose," Cas agreed, his whole body deflating as Michael walked into the studio. He glanced over at the plant, frowned, and then shook his head before focusing back down on his boyfriend, who'd turned to watch him glare at the specimen. Cas almost asked, almost. What, that was, Michael had against the plant, but found that, much like it had the day in the Burr hospital, his voice wouldn't address the subject.

"I'm going to work," Michael was saying. "Your mom is running a little late getting here, the weather's pretty nasty, but she should be here soon. So just… don't do any walking or moving until she gets here."

"I'll be fine Michael," Cas assured as he reached up, straightening the collar of his boyfriend's suit. "Go to work. And don't worry about me." Michael seemed to give him a look that implied a kind of "easier said than done" attitude before nodding and leaning in. The two shared a short, meaningless kiss, Michael then stepping away and heading back out of the studio. Watching him go, Cas waited until he'd vanished down the stairs to reach up and lay his fingers against his lips.

Cold.

Since when had contact between him and Michael felt so empty? He couldn't tell if the strange attitude was coming from Michael or himself, but he was convinced it was there. They'd had trouble with conversation lately, and Cas felt as though he spent more time tip-toing around Michael than anything else. He wasn't sure why, but he had the feeling his boyfriend was… angry about something. Like he, Cas, had done something wrong. Because he knew Michael was hiding something from him. They all were. His friends. And even his mother. Yet over and over again they insisted that he try and remember on his own. Like there was something significant he was supposed to remember from the two months he'd lost.

Or the two weeks he'd been in Burr.

He'd had half a mind, on multiple occasions, to simply get on the computer and look up what he could on what had happened that night. Michael had asked that he not, that he do his best to remember on his own, but it just…

It was bothering him. And he was starting to lose patience with the fact that so many people seemed to think it was better that he not just read about it. Maybe doing so would even help his memory come back. Besides, it was his life, he had the right to know, even if it wasn't his head that was telling him.

He didn't like being left in the dark.

Biting his lip, he pondered the idea for a moment longer before, resolute, he stood, grabbed his cane, and headed across his studio to the stairs. Flipping off the light, he made his way down the spiral staircase into the dim morning light of his Chicago penthouse. Once he, finally, got to the bottom, he silently apologized to Michael for breaking his promise before locating his laptop and gingerly setting himself down into the couch in the living room.

Cracking it open, his eye adjusted to the abrupt light as he opened a webpage and started his search.

It didn't take much. All he typed in was Burr, Kansas and the links to his case were the first in the list. Looking for what he supposed was a dependable source, he clicked on the CNN link and watched as the text quickly flashed across the screen. Lips pursed, he read.

He read articles until he'd pieced together the majority of the story.

"Gay man found beaten in small town in Kansas," "left in critical condition," "police hunting for the ones behind it," "friends and family interviewed," "still few leads found," "son of a local pastor," "visiting from Chicago," "found with severe wounds and hypothermia," "believed to be a hate crime," "photos point to premeditation."

That last was what caused Cas to narrow his eyes at the screen curiously and reopen another search engine. Typing in "Burr Kansas gay man beaten photos," he waited the second for the page to load before clicking on the first link.

He scanned the article, taking away what few important clues he could – "Exposing photos of victim the only evidence that could lead to the perpetrator," "photos given to the father of the victim," "violation of privacy," "two men," "Castiel Novak and-"

"Dean Winchester…" Cas muttered to himself. "What… what does he have to do with this?" It didn't make any sense, at least not to Cas. What were these exposing photos that had been given to his father? What had they exposed? He tried searching for more details, but little more than "personal" and "exposing" were used to describe the photos. None of them had been posted, which he supposed he was… thankful for, whatever it was they related to.

But still, Dean Winchester. Over and over Dean was mentioned as being involved in the photos.

Why…?

"Castiel?" His mother's voice, as she walked in the door, nearly made him jump, the light to the apartment flicking on shortly after. "What are you doing?" she laughed. "Sitting here in the dark." Closing the laptop, he turned around in his seat to watch as she walked behind the kitchen counter (his apartment was set up to be completely open, few doorways. He didn't like doorways), grocery bags in her hands.

He almost decided to stay silent on the subject, not wanting to upset his mother by letting her know that he'd gone against her wishes and researched his own accident. But the erratic way his heart thumped in his chest, tugging him into action, spurred him into believing that he had the right to know what was going on, and what they were hiding from him.

"Mother," he addressed her a second later, her blue eyes coming up to look across the apartment at him. She was unloading a carton of pulp-free orange juice from a small paper bag, her hand pausing as he voiced his question. "What do photos have to do with what happened to me?" He asked her straight, as was his typical fashion.

She didn't reply at first, instead blinking over at him as his inquiry sank fully into her skull. It wasn't until the silence between them had stretched past comfortable levels that she finally cleared her throat, turning to put the orange juice into the fridge before allowing herself to sigh and face him again.

"I guess I should have expected that you'd finally just read about it yourself," she said from behind the counter, her expression softening as she looked at him. "But Michael, he…" she closed her eyes only momentarily. "He wanted to keep it from you as long as possible. And I don't exactly blame him. He's… hurting…"

Cas shook his head, clearly not understanding.

"But," she continued, "you're my son first and I swore that I'd tell you if you asked. So," her head nodded, as if she needed to give herself the go-ahead. "The photos were given to your father by Raguel," his father's partner. "I don't know where he got them, but they're the reason your father found out about your… sexuality." Eyes hungry for information, Cas waited for her to continue. "They were of you and… another man. During… explicit activities."

This visibly took Cas aback, his eyes widening as he considered her implication. Yet, in the same moment, he couldn't imagine it was true.

"Are you referring to… sexual activities?" he asked skeptically.

"… Yes…" she answered a little awkwardly.

"But…" He didn't understand. How was that even possible?

"Castiel," her shoulders dropped, her feet finally carrying her around the counter and over to the couch where he sat. Placing herself beside him, she reached out, taking his hands in hers as she prepared herself to tell him. "While you were in Burr," her speech was slow, "you… you were… cheating… on Michael."

"What?" his tone was deep, disbelieving. "I wouldn't do that. I'd never cheat." On anyone. Ever. That wasn't the kind of person he was. "Besides, who is there in Burr that I would ever do that with?"

"Castiel," she said his name with some difficulty. "There is… one person, I think, that you would… cheat with. And I think you know who it is."

Even as she said it, he was shaking his head. Because that was impossible. Literally, it simply wasn't possible. There was no way that… that…

"But…" he couldn't wrap his head around it. "Why… what?"

"Honey," his mother's jaw tightened. "That's why Michael is… hurt, and why he can't stand the sight of that plant." If there was any verification still necessary, that was it. "Every time he sees it, it reminds him of what you did. Which was wrong. To both of them."

"B-both?" Cas asked. "How did I…"

"Honey," she gripped his hands a little tighter. "You weren't just… cheating. You were having an affair." His eyes went a little wider, if at all possible. "I know that you weren't in Burr very long, but you two… you were infatuated with each other."

"That's not possible," he continued to deny. "That would just… never happen."

Ever. In his life. Thinking it was impossible was the only way he'd gotten through the feelings. Because he'd been convinced that his feelings couldn't be returned.

"It's not," Naomi persisted. Sighing again, she released him before standing. Heading over to the corner of the room where some of her own luggage was sitting – what few things she kept in Cas's apartment – she unzipped her suitcase before sifting through what was inside. Soon enough she'd pulled out a manila envelope, one she then brought back to the couch with her. "The police took the originals as evidence and made copies that they gave back to me. But… if you want proof." She held out the envelope.

Eyes still wide, Cas stared down at the offering for a moment, unsure whether he wanted to open it or not. Yet where his head was indecisive, his hands easily took up the mantle. Trembling only slightly, he delicately took the envelope from her before turning it over. Undoing the clasp, he reached inside and pulled out the first photo.

He gaped at what he saw, attempting to blink it away in case it wasn't real. But the way his heart pulled in his chest told him it was, that it had to be. Because though what he saw was unfamiliar to his mind's eye, his body reacted in a way that left him desperate and despairing. He saw himself there, in the midst of an intimacy he and the other person involved should only ever see. Him…

And Dean Winchester, mouth pulled open in ecstasy beneath him.

"Oh my god," he bent over, his hand going to his forehead as he pushed his hair back in shock. But the photo never changed, was never revealed to be some kind of lie, and he had no choice other than to believe that he and Dean had… "I don't… why would he…?"

"That's not something I can tell you," his mother replied simply. "All I know is that you and Dean were… so enraptured with one another that you were completely ignoring Michael's phone calls. To the point where he got so worried about you that he flew down to Burr to see you. At which point you told him the truth and announced you were in love with Dean."

"I-In  _love_?" he questioned, glancing back up at her. "With  _Dean_?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Though I don't think this should come as any great shock to you," she eyed him skeptically. "You've been in love with him since you were in high school, haven't you?" He gaped again, not expecting her to know about such things. Yet even as she said it, the way his stomach flipped told him everything. Maybe he'd thought he was over Dean, had moved on, but the signals his body was giving him relayed an entirely different story. It was rather confusing, were he being totally honest.

"But… I was barely  _in_  Burr."

"It was long enough, apparently," she shrugged. "From what Anna told me, you even asked him to move to Chicago with you."

Could he gape any further?

"W-well… what- what did he say?"

"I don't know," Naomi's lips pulled into a sad line. "I don't know a lot about what happened between you and Dean honey, except that you were claiming to be in love with him. And that when I saw the way he looked at you…" she smiled shortly. "Oh Castiel, he adored you."

"Dean Winchester?"

"Yes!" he nodded, laughing shortly. "You should have seen him after finding you at the Whitherpool house. He was so pale, and scared. He was so afraid of losing you. And when… and when you woke up…" She looked down at the couch, her brows pulling together painfully. "And you didn't remember anything. Oh honey, his heart broke right there." Remembering it nearly brought tears to her eyes, the way he'd stumbled out of the room. "Maybe he didn't know it yet, but he was deeply in love with you Castiel."

Sitting back in the couch, he dropped the photos into his lap, his whole body trembling as he took in what she was telling him.

As he realized what he'd left behind.

"Oh god," his hands went to his mouth, his skin paling as the truth began to take full effect. As he accepted what he'd done – the horrible, terrible things he'd done – and the people he'd hurt while doing them. No wonder Michael was so cold. And why there didn't seem to be anything between them no matter how close they were. Because, at least for Cas, his feelings had been put elsewhere. With Dean.

Dean, who'd come to see him, had given him flowers, and asked for nothing but forgiveness. Forgiveness that Cas should have been the one asking for. Thinking back, he'd realized just how hurt Dean had looked, how broken, but he hadn't had the insight to attribute it to himself. But now that he did…

How had he forgotten something like that?

 _Dean Winchester_? No wonder he couldn't stop drawing him. His body had been trying to tell him what his mind couldn't. What his bruised, injured head had let slip away.

He'd had an affair with Dean Winchester…

"Castiel," Naomi reached out to him, unsure what to do with her son's reaction. She could see the way his whole body shivered, his gaze helpless as he shook his head, tears abruptly coming to his eyes. He seemed just as surprised as she was to find them there however, his hand reaching up and wiping them away. He then stared down at the wet mark across his skin, the water still streaking down his cheeks.

He hurt; he was hurting so badly. Far worse than the beating he'd taken had ever injured him.

"I…" he tried to take control of himself, but his head just couldn't comprehend the agony his body was going through. "I l-left him there," he croaked out, Naomi taking his arm as she watched him fall apart. "I just l-left and he…"

He gave him flowers.

Forget Me Nots.

"Castiel, it's okay," Naomi tried to soothe. "It's alright. You have his number in your phone. Just… call him, if that's what you want to do." He looked up at her, having been previously unaware of this fact. Reaching into his pocket, he fumbled clumsily with the contraption, eventually managing to find his way to his contacts. He scrolled down to "D," looking for that name, but failed to locate it. So he went on to "W," yet still it wasn't there.

"It's not… I can't find it," his body was beginning to panic again, his brain still a step behind.

"What?" Naomi grabbed his phone from his hands, doing just as he'd done and scrolling through his contacts. "That's impossible. It was in here. I got his number off your phone." But his name was nowhere to be found. So she deferred her search to his call history, but there was nothing. His history was completely deleted.

She went to his texts.

Nothing.

"It was here…" She thought of her cell, that maybe it'd be in her history, but she'd made calls from her house phone that night – when she'd been calling all his friends in a panic. She didn't have the number either.

Castiel, however, was shaking more severely beside her, the phone soon tossed to the table as she reached up in an attempt to steady him.

"Castiel, you need to calm down," she said evenly, removing the photos from his lap and setting them atop the table as well.

"I-I can't," he gulped, tears still streaming from his eyes. "My body… I can't… calm down…" His chest was tight, his heart racing, and the room began to spin all around him. The lights were suddenly too bright and a feeling of terror had gripped him. He tried to tell himself to calm down, but nothing was working. Soon enough he was convinced he couldn't breathe, his hand going to his chest as he gasped.

"Castiel, honey, you're- you're having a panic attack," his mother's voice seemed to be blocked by a wall of water, hardly reaching his ears and seeming drawn out, blurred – if a voice could be blurred. His stomach was heaving, he was going to throw up, and his whole body was cold with chills, sweat soon coating his skin as he reached out in an attempt to steady himself against the armrest of the couch.

Naomi, beginning to panic herself, stood swiftly and searched around the apartment for anything that would help. She spotted the small paper bag that she'd brought the orange juice in and quickly jogged over to grab it. Bringing it back, she held it up to Cas's mouth, to which he initially flinched away. Rather violently.

"You need to take deep breaths Castiel," she tried to keep her voice steady despite how her own nerves snapped. "Breathe into this. Calm down. It's alright." She held the bag up again, this time getting better results as he reached up a shaking hand and took it from her. Sweat beading on his forehead, he tried to breathe into it, his attempts to little avail.

Naomi, however, was running out of options.

Grabbing up his phone, she quickly dialed 911, not knowing what else to do.

"What's your emergency?" the woman who picked up asked right away.

"My son," Naomi choked out. "He's having a severe panic attack. I don't know what to do." She was finally beginning to lose her own sense of composure.

"Alright ma'am, calm down. Give me your location and we'll send someone out right away, okay?" Naomi rolled off the address she'd long since memorized. Years of sending her son birthday presents. "Okay, there's emergency personal on the way. I need you to stay on the line with me. How is your son?"

"He's getting worse," Naomi revealed, the paper bag now discarded as Castiel took in hastened, short breaths, his face pale and glistening with sweat. His whole body seemed to jerk as he lurched forward, as if to throw up, and Naomi reached out to stop him from accidentally banging his already injured head on the coffee table. He didn't cough anything up, but he was shaking so severely that she feared he was maybe even having a seizure. The phone soon fell out of her hands, becoming the least of her concerns, and she instead focused on keeping Castiel from harming himself unintentionally.

He, however, had lost complete control. His mind was stalled, unable to do anything as his vision wavered at the lack of oxygen. Abruptly, everything was dark, and he was cold. And when he blinked, he could see snow. His whole body was aching and part of him wanted to curl up and never move again. Because it hurt so badly, one impact after another. And then there was a truck, and he was being held down in the bed of it. And the house. The empty house that buried him.

He was going to die. He was going to die there.

_He was going to die._

"Castiel, I need you to calm down," a voice was telling him. "Your whole body is cramping up because you're not breathing enough, alright?" A man's voice. A man he didn't know. Something was on his arm, tightening around it, and he tried to get away, but he was held down. There was something enfolding around him, holding him in place. Hugging tightly. "You need to breathe Castiel. If you don't breathe, we're going to have to take you to the hospital, alright?" the man continued, Cas blinking and trying to dig his way out. But the blankets were heavy and he was so, so cold.

"Breathe Castiel."

He couldn't. He couldn't breathe. His lungs, his chest, it all hurt too badly. He was going to suffocate.

"Bring that oxygen over here," the voice was saying, the sounds of people scuffling around him increasing and his panic continued to spike. They were still there, they were still beating on him, and he couldn't get away. They were holding him down.

"Breathe Castiel," there was something on his face, something warm that blew air into him. That dissipated some of the cold feeling. "That's right Castiel, keep breathing. You're alright." Breathe, yes, he could breathe. He was breathing. And it wasn't dark. He could see lights flashing around him. Lights that became brighter as his eyes flicked from side to side.

There wasn't any snow. He didn't know these people. And they weren't leering down at him.

He could breathe.

"That's right Castiel, just relax," the man kept saying. "I know you're afraid, but you just have to calm down. Keep breathing."

"He was in an accident recently," he could hear his mother's voice saying across the room. "And he suffered from some severe head trauma. I didn't mean to make him feel this way, I was-"

"Anxiety is a well-known symptom of head injuries," a woman replied.

"Just keep breathing Castiel, that's it."

"He'll be alright in a moment, but you might want to take him to see his doctor and tell them this happened, if he doesn't usually have panic attacks." The strange woman.

"Alright Castiel, we're going to take this mask off, okay? But you have to keep breathing." The pressure was removed from his face, the chill of the room not seeming nearly so bad anymore. "That's right Castiel, good. Focus on your breathing, okay? That's what I want you to be thinking about. Just breathe. In and out."

He did. In and out. He could breathe again.

He wasn't dead.

"Very good Castiel," the man kept saying. "You're alright now. You're not in any danger, okay? You're safe here. You're in Chicago, not in Kansas." Cas turned his head to the voice, staring wide-eyed at the older gentleman in a paramedic's uniform smiling gently at him. "You're home now; you're okay. Just breathe."

Slowly, he was set back against the couch cushions, feeling creeping up into his limbs as they continued to shiver. Flexing his hands, he forced them from their cramped position, the ache in his head punctuating as he continued to simply breathe.

"He's the one that's been all over the news, right?" a sympathetic voice muttered behind him.

"Yeah, I think so," was the foreign response given. He could practically feel their pitying gazes on the back of his head.

"You doing alright now Castiel?" the man from before drew his attention once again, Cas gulping as he managed to locate his voice.

"Y-yes, I'm fine," he lied.

"Well, you're hardly fine, but at least you're breathing now," the paramedic joked. "You've been through an ordeal Castiel, but you're coming back around. I was almost on the verge of taking you to the hospital. I'll give you the choice now though. Do you think you need to go?"

"No," he shook his head as best he could. "I'll be alright."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Just keep breathing."

" _Should_  he go to the hospital?" Naomi asked, her tone urgent.

"He should probably see his doctor," the male paramedic that had been calming him down had turned away from him, to answer his mother. "But he's calmed down well enough. Like Patricia was saying, anxiety sometimes comes along with head injuries. I don't know that there'll be much to do for him at the hospital, but I think he'll be better off calming down here and then speaking to his doctor."

"You're sure?" Naomi asked.

"His breathing is normal again and his heart rate has gone down," the paramedic that was unwrapping the blood pressure cuff explained, Castiel thankful to be free of it. "He's alright. We've seen worse as far as panic attacks. Just keep him comfortable and he'll be back to normal in a few hours, so long as he doesn't suffer another one."

"I'll call his doctor," Naomi assured as the paramedics began to pack up their gear, Cas lacking any interest in watching them. Instead, eyes closed, he simply breathed. If he focused on that, then he didn't have to think about anything else.

"We're real sorry about your son ma'am," another of the strangers started to say. "We've been keeping an eye on the investigation all week. We really hope he recovers soon."

"Thank you," Naomi replied quietly.

"We're all thinking about him," the man that originally calmed him said lastly. "He's in our prayers." Their discussion faded soon after, Can not bothering to pursue it as Naomi watched the group troop back out of the apartment. It wasn't until the door was closed and the apartment had been brought back into silence that she came and sat down beside him.

"Castiel, honey," she reached out for his hand. "Are you doing alright?"

"I'm okay Mother," he nodded shortly, his eyes still closed. "I'm okay…"

Maybe.

"I'm going to call your doctor," she explained. "And Michael." Perhaps for her own sanity. She wasn't sure she could stay in the apartment alone with Castiel without taking him to the hospital. Cas didn't register any of her calls however, his ears throbbing as he sank into the couch and tried to become nothing. Because that was easier than dealing with reality.

So long as he kept breathing.

He went in and out of consciousness a few times, his head pounding to the point where he was half tempted to take some of the stronger drugs his doctor had prescribed just in case it was necessary. Before he could get that far however, he heard another voice trying to pull him from his sleeping state, his eyes flickering open to see Michael's overly concerned face staring up at him from where he was crouched before the couch.

Looking away, Cas closed his eyes again.

"You messed with my phone," he said slowly, his voice directed at Michael despite how his eyes remained closed.

"What?" was the response he got, Michael fully intent on somehow aiding his boyfriend and not expecting such an accusation to be thrown his way.

"You messed with my phone," Cas persisted quietly. "You deleted Dean from my contacts." And from any memory base otherwise on the contraption. "I know it was you." Who else would it have been?

Michael didn't reply right away, his form stiffening, his hands – they were placed on Cas's knees – tightening some as he looked away. The expression on his face was somewhat rebellious, shadowed by his injured pride and feelings. Cas didn't see it however, finally opening his eyes again and unable to look at Michael. Maybe because he was angry, or maybe because he was ashamed. It was strange, really, because he couldn't remember cheating, and his head said it was impossible that he'd do such a thing, but his body remembered. The guilt wedging its way into his chest told him that.

But even so, that didn't give Michael the right to tamper with his things.

"I was just…" Michael sighed, his shoulders dropping. "You don't even remember anything Cas, so I was just trying to make it easier for you to fall back into your old life." Because the accident, and the cheating, and Burr in general made it seem like his whole world had tipped.

Michael's honest admission finally drew Cas's eyes his way, Naomi, who was standing on the other side of the room, pausing in her approach of them, supposing it was something she shouldn't get involved in.

So long as their discussion didn't send Castiel into another panic attack.

"My old life?" Cas had furrowed his brows, staring down at his "boyfriend" rather critically. "I was gone two weeks Michael. I'd say my life isn't exactly that different from when I left." Other than what had been mentioned previously. "Some things have changed, yes, but that doesn't mean you can just sweep what happened under the rug like it didn't."

"That's not what I was doing," Michael sighed, standing before placing himself on the couch beside Cas. "You made a mistake Cas. I was just trying to make it as easy as possible for everyone to deal with it."

"By not dealing with it at all?" Cas asked. "Michael… I  _cheated_  on you." Whether he believed it or not – there were photos to prove it. "That's not something that can be ignored by just… deleting a contact from my phone. What if I had never realized what I'd done? Were you just going to keep on living like nothing had happened?"

"I don't know Cas," Michael replied, his tone guarded as he looked down at the couch. "I've been trying to forgive you. So you went to Burr and got involved with someone from your past. Sometimes… that… happens." No, it didn't. "You got it out of your system, right? So we should just forget about it." He sounded almost as if he was trying to convince himself as well.

"Michael," Cas shook his head. "That's not… I may not remember, but I know that's not what happened. I broke up with you."

"You were upset and acting rashly," was Michael's strict reply, his eyes coming up to meet Cas's again. "You were with this guy for less than a week Cas. Less than a week and you were claiming you were in  _love_  with him? Don't you know how ridiculous that sounds?" He shook his head. "We've been together three years; you were going to  _marry_  me." Naomi raised her eyebrows, but still said nothing. "And I'm supposed to believe that you could throw that all away over one man? Cas, we  _can_  get through this."

"If I hadn't lost my memory," Cas's voice was heavy, marching. Determined. "Would I be with you?" He didn't blink as he asked, looking straight into Michael's eyes for an honest answer. He didn't get one however, Michael's lips pursing again with that rebellious gumption. "If I broke up with you Michael, then I have to have enough faith in myself to believe I knew what I was doing." Because if he couldn't even trust himself, who could he?

"You don't remember any of that Cas," Michael reasoned. "What you remember is us. Isn't that what's important to you?"

"I don't know," Cas shook his head. "Things are different now. Even if I can't remember why, I know it's true. And so do you." Because there was no warmth between them anymore. "What I did to you is unforgivable. How can I stay with you knowing what I did? And knowing that maybe I… maybe I found something better." It was harsh, incredibly so, and Michael shied away from the words. As if they'd smacked him, which, perhaps, they had.

"You don't remember any of it Cas."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?!" Michael's voice was sharp.

"The point…" Cas sighed. "Is that, when I look at you," their eyes met again. "I don't… feel anything… anymore." His heart constricted painfully at the thought. Not because he regretted saying the words, but because he knew he was giving up something that had once been dear to him. Not even he could help that things between them had changed, and forcing it wasn't going to make either of them happy.

"Cas…" Michael gulped, his expression turning to one of desperate hurt. "Don't say that. You've been through a lot. We can get back what we had again. We're both just a little lost right now. Don't give up."

"I'm not giving up," Cas glanced away, his blank stare focused forward. "I'm facing up to what I did. What does it say about how much I care about you that I had an affair with someone else? That's not fair to you Michael. And maybe I don't remember doing it, but if I was the person looking in on what I'd done," which he kind of was, "then I'd tell myself, and more importantly you, exactly this – I don't deserve you Michael, I screwed up, and it can't be fixed."

"That's just running away from the problem."

"No, it's not," he affirmed heavily, his voice absolutely certain. "I found something I wanted more than you Michael. Whether I can remember it or not, that's a fact. And that tells me that what we have isn't 'it.' Maybe what I had with… Dean isn't either, but that I'd act that way tells me  _now_  that we don't have a future.

"It's not right, and it's not fair, but I don't… I don't love you anymore." He didn't need to have been filled in about his actions to realize that. Though he hadn't truly understood it till that moment, that was what had seemed off since he'd come back. Not only had Michael been keeping his distance, but Cas had been too. Unconsciously. He didn't want to be with Michael anymore.

"Cas, c'mon," Michael begged. "It doesn't have to be like this. We can-"

"It wouldn't matter if I'd cheated on you or not," Cas interjected coldly. "I'm saying we're done Michael. When I look at you, I don't want to be around you anymore." He glanced down at his lap. "That's it." Maybe it was his own inherent self-loathing over what he'd done that made him feel that way, or just the fact that he'd fallen out of love. But the longer he pondered it, the more certain he was that keeping Michael around would make him sick. Sicker than he already was anyway. Be it self-inflicted illness or not.

And  _he_  certainly wasn't going to be healthy for Michael.

"'That's it…'" Michael repeated. "You're going to throw away everything we had just like that?"

"I'm not throwing anything away, I'm saying we're spent. There's nothing left to throw." Because he'd destroyed them.

Michael's jaw was tight, his teeth grinding together as he surveyed Cas's still, unmovable expression. He blinked rapidly, his breath forcefully steadied as the fact of the matter settled into him.

It didn't matter what he did, if one half of the equation wanted out, then he didn't have a choice.

Him and Cas…

Were over.

"I'll move my stuff out," he said stiffly before standing (because he'd been the one to move in previously). Staring down at Cas a moment longer, he pulled back his desire to continue objecting and turned. Unable to face Naomi, he headed back to the door, pulling it open and slamming it behind him.

Flinching slightly at the sound, Cas released a trembling breath, oddly calm. His mind was abuzz, questioning what he'd just done and rehashing whether it was right. But the rest of him was settled. And so his thoughts slowly sank as well until all he could do was hunch back into the couch and sigh in exhaustion.

He closed his eyes and wished he could remember.


	17. When the Heart Cries

It was slow. A very,  _very_  slow day. So slow, in fact, that Dean found it all rather uncanny. Sure, it was a small town, but the shop was literally empty. Not a car in sight. No one had come in with a fender-bender due to the snow, or in need of tires better equipped for the weather. Not even a single oil change. Thus, he and Bobby stood at the counter, one with a drink and the other tapping his oddly clean nails against the counter.

Huffing in discontent, Dean slapped his arms over his chest, Bobby putting his vile of alcohol down on the counter as the phone rang for the first time in the entirety of the afternoon. Picking it up with his typical lax attitude, Bobby greeted whoever was on the other line as best he could, Dean listening whether he wanted to or not.

"Of course," Bobby was saying. "Yes, he's here." Dean flicked his eyes over. "No, I wouldn't say that." Pause. "If that's how you feel… have a good day."

"What was that about?" Dean asked as he hung up, Bobby's shoulders sagging as he held his hand atop the phone and obviously considered what he wanted to say. Dean felt uneasy about it, aware that the call had something to do with him. The feeling wasn't new however. Over the last few days, he'd encountered it regularly. When he went to the grocery store, or stopped for gas. Simply driving his car – because everyone recognized his car.

The looks. The accusing and curious looks everyone in the town gave him.

Glancing down at the floor, he was able to piece together what had probably been behind the call, even as Bobby turned to him in continued silence.

"I get it," Dean said shortly, his hand falling heavily to the counter again. "It's alright."

"It's aint," Bobby objected. "I've known you my whole life Dean. If those assholes is stayin' away because they don't want anythin' to do with you, then it's they're loss. You've always had a job here and you always will. No matter what."

"Though I appreciate the sentiment Bobby, that's not realistic. For you." He shook his head. "Your shop can't survive unless people come in for business. And they're not going to with a fag working under you." Because who wanted a fairy working on their car? Despite his history of good work and constant dedication to customer service. But none of that mattered anymore. No. Because he'd been outed to the entire town.

"Hey!" Bobby came up next to him before slapping him harshly on the arm. "That kinda language aint okay in my shop. You should know that." Dean pursed his lips, rubbing the smart. "Business'll come back. Just got to wait for this to blow over. People just keepin' their distance cuz the news got them all spooked. People here know you Dean. They aint gonna hold out long."

"Bobby, Cas came back for one visit and look what happened to him," Dean pointed out. "I think it's safe to say people here can hold on to things." He shook his head, ignoring the way Bobby frowned. "I'm not going to be the cause of your business going under. Not for something as stupid as this." He laughed bitterly. "Besides, I've worked here too long anyway."

"Dean," Bobby cast him a sympathetic look. "If you aint workin' here, then where you gonna go? No one in town… no one is goin' to hire you."

"Yeah, I know," Dean took a deep breath. "I can take a hint."

"Where you gonna go?"

"I don't know," he shook his head. "Maybe I'll go… stay with Sam for a while. Or something… Maybe find a job closer to him." Bobby's eyes had fallen to the floor, his own sigh echoing around the quiet lobby. For a moment, neither of them said anything, Dean slowly reaching up and pulling the zipper down on his coveralls before shrugging the sleeves from his arms. In that moment, Bobby reached up and laid a hand on his shoulder, his expression pointed and serious.

"You leave town Dean," he nodded. "You been here too long anyway. You leave, an' don't you come back here. There's nothin' for you here now. Never was. You get outta here and do somethin' better with your life than the… bigoted assholes still stuck here. This is your chance. Take it Dean." Because the town was basically forcing him out. Forcing him into what he'd always been too afraid to do himself.

"I'll see what I can do," he assured, gripping Bobby's arm in a friendly, masculine farewell before they parted. Slipping his coveralls off the rest of the way, he folded them gingerly, cast them one last look, and set them atop the counter. Saluting once to Bobby, he nodded before walking around the counter.

Reaching the door, he gave Bobby a few more parting words. "Good luck hiring someone to take over for me," he turned back. "But, you know, I hear those high schoolers don't always do such a bad job."

"You don't need to tell me twice," Bobby assured with a nod. Supposing that would have to do, Dean stepped out into the snow, the late afternoon dusk shining down through a fog of black, snaking clouds. Going to his car across the way of the empty lot, he shoved himself into the driver's side, his hands going to the steering wheel. Taking a deep, collected breath, he flexed his hands and grit his teeth, staring out into the dark, snow-littered Kansas landscape.

It stretched on emptily, fading out into the moonlit snow, which seemed to look heavier the farther out he looked. He couldn't see what was beyond that point – he'd long since lost the ability to peer past those broad, long fields, now dead and waiting for spring.

He hadn't left Burr in ten years.

Punching his car into working order, he reached into his pocket for his phone, scrolling through his contacts as he pulled out into the road. Locating Sam's name, he sighed before putting the phone to his ear and waiting for someone to pick up the other line. Sam had returned to college only the day before, having spent up his time in Burr. That aside, Dean's attitude hadn't exactly been festive as of late, which had made it one of their more downed holidays in a long time.

Despite any sourness between them though, Dean knew his little brother would pick up. It took a few more rings than usual, but soon his voice was echoing through the speakers.

"Dean," he said. "What's up?" He sounded a little taken aback – probably because they'd only seen each other the day before.

"I, uh…" Dean tried to gather his courage so he could explain what was going on. But how did he possibly say that he was being basically forced from his own home? It didn't sound right and the rebellious side of him wanted to take a stand and say "no." Yet, really, where would that get him?

"Dean?"

"I know that you said you and Ruby were pretty… pretty crowded in your new apartment, but…" He forced himself to give in. "Would it be alright if I stayed with you for a little while? Until I can… find a new job. And stuff."

"Oh…" Sam processed the information. "Of course Dean. You're always welcome. Just… what happened?" It didn't take a genius to figure it out, but hearing the explanation foremost generally had a way of finalizing things.

"I quit," Dean admitted. "Bobby's business is basically… nonexistent because of me. So…" He ran his tongue over the fronts of his teeth, his voice becoming quiet. "You know I'm not going to find another job in this town." Not with his "new reputation."

"I was worried something like this might happen," Sam murmured. Maybe, if he'd just been a regular gay (bisexual) man who'd come out and not drawn undo attention to himself, he'd have stood a better chance. But as it was, he and Cas had basically created an accusing finger the rest of the country was set on pointing at Burr. The bad press was, in essence, their fault, and that made him the worst kind of "homosexual" they could think of. Everyone had known who he was to begin with, and now everyone  _really_  knew who he was.

"Yeah, I'd thought about it too," he agreed.

"When do you think you're going to get here?" Sam asked, Dean pulling the Impala into the parking lot of his apartment complex. "I'll start cleaning out our spare room and-"

"You don't need to go to all that trouble Sammy," Dean insisted. "I'm not going to be under your feet for that long." Hopefully. "Just until I can find another gig. I'm more than happy to sleep on the couch till then." He didn't want to be a burden. That was the last thing he wanted. He'd lived on his own a long time and he didn't see any reason why that should change in the near future.

He heard Sam take a breath, as if to object, but he continued on before he could. "I'll probably be there sometime next week," he was climbing out of the Impala, headed up to his apartment. "I have to get stuff packed up. Granted, I don't have much, but I'll still have to throw a lot away before the apartment will be cleaned out."

"Alright," Sam agreed as Dean got to his door and, unlocking it, pushed his way inside. "I assume you're driving, obviously." Because the Impala went wherever Dean went.

"Uh,  _yeah_ ," Dean made clear, using a little bit more attitude than necessary. Aside from the fact that he had to bring his car however, there was also the fact that he was deathly afraid of flying. But only Sam knew that (because of a family vacation they'd once taken to Florida) and he had no intention of letting it be known to anyone else.

"Okay, okay," Sam laughed, "just wanted to be sure." A pause came in the conversation, Dean reaching into his fridge and pulling out a beer. "So… you heard anything from Cas?"

"No," Dean's reply was cold, the cap popping off the beer before he took a drink and made his way over to the couch. "He doesn't remember anything about what happened between us. Why would he want to talk to me? Him and Michael, I'm sure, are back cozied up in their 'penthouse.'" His voice was clearly mocking the idea.

"Well… maybe you should call him?" Sam recommended despite Dean's logic. "And, I don't know,  _tell him what happened_." Sam had said the same thing the day prior, before leaving, to which Dean had replied just as he was then –

"I'm not gonna do that Sam," he stated resolutely. "What he knows is what he had with Michael. If that's what he wants, then I don't have the right to get between them." And, despite how he loathed admitting it, there were also all the other variables that Michael had so willingly brought to his attention.

"Dude, that was where he was when he ended up with you!" Sam reasoned. "If you could get him once, you could get him again!"

"And what? Destroy his relationship with Michael?  _Again_? I can't knowingly do that Sam."

"You're not destroying anything!" Sam said, clearly exasperated. "It's already been destroyed.  _You_  know it;  _Michael_  knows it. And Cas is gonna find out one way or another. Whatever it is Michael is doing – pretending like nothing happened – it's not real. You should get in touch with Cas and  _tell him_  as soon as possible!"

"So that we can what?" Dean asked bitterly. "Reunite and ride off into the sunset together?"

"If that works for you."

"Sam," Dean was all seriousness. "Cas and I… We're not good for each other. I'm not in any position to be if any use to him. What if I were to move up to Chicago with him? Then what? He'd have to support me no matter what I'm doing, or change his lifestyle to accommodate mine." He shook his head despite how his brother couldn't see. "We're just not a good fit." Figuratively speaking.

"Dean," Sam was giving him that "do you think I'm stupid?" kind of tone, "is that really what you think? Or is that what someone else wants you to think?"

"Is there a difference? It's true either way."

Sam huffed, but before he could comment any further on the subject, Dean's head snapped around to the window as the sound of glass shattering swept through the apartment. Jumping to his feet, he took a step back in alarm as the tiny pieces of his window bounced across the thin carpet floor. Blinking, green eyes wide, Dean hardly registered the way Sam was asking him what had happened, his focus falling to the large object that had crashed through the glass.

When silence once again fell to the apartment, Dean cautiously crept toward the broken window, a chilly breeze sweeping snow into his face as he crouched down to examine the object sent flying in. Picking it up, he registered that it was actually a brick. A brick that, when he flipped it over, was scrawled with a message in black paint.

Or, rather, one word.

"FAG."

Hand tightening around the brick, Dean ground his teeth together in anger, Sam continually asking into his ear what had happened. It took a moment for Dean to gather himself, to finally straighten and offer his brother an explanation.

"Some asshole threw a brick into my window!" he replied, clearly outraged. "Fuckin' wrote 'FAG' across the damn thing, mother fuckers!" Stomping over to the shattered window, he stuck his head out, Sam trying to calm him down on the other line to no avail. "Hey!" he yelled, his deep voice carrying across the parking lot outside. "You got somethin' to say to me, say it to my face douchebags!"

"Dean, stop!" Sam yelled into the phone. Unfortunately, Dean had long since pulled the phone from his ear, holding it against the windowsill as he leaned out. "Dean!"

"What?!" he shouted into the phone as he pulled his head back in. "Fuckers! I'm gonna find em' and-"

"Dean, shut up!" Sam yelled. "Don't go after them! Do you want to end up like Cas?!"

"Shitheads are probably the same ones that attacked Cas! And now I'm gonna kick their asses!"

"Dean, don-" His brother was cut off as Dean whipped around to the other window in his living room, yet another brick soaring through. Beyond furious now, he hung up on Sam before stuffing his phone into his pocket and barreling toward the door. Throwing it open, he ran down the hall and outside. Jumping down the steps, he vaulted through the snow, rushing around the building until he was standing out back.

Breathing heavily, his breath came out in great, visible puffs, his eyes narrowing in on the three figures standing below his windows.

"Raphael!" he yelled, his tone growling, and the three glanced over. "Uriel, Zack!" They had other objects in their hands, probably more bricks to break more windows, but stalled in their attack upon spotting Dean.

"Well, looks like the fairy was brave enough to come out," Raphael taunted immaturely. "Only took almost thirty years." He took a few steps closer to Dean, the other two hanging back with visible looks of unease on their faces.

"Call me whatever you want," Dean countered. "I've still gotten more game with the ladies than you ever will." Even back in high school his powers of seduction had been unrivaled.

"Oh yeah?" Raphael tossed the brick in his hand lazily up into the air before catching it. "From what I've seen, you like to play the lady more than you like to be with them. I didn't know you liked it up the ass Winchester?"

Dean smiled, his hands going lazily to his pockets as he eyed the three arrogantly. "Guess you don't really know much about me then," he replied snarkily, feigning complete and total uncaring about the comments being thrown his way.

"Guess now I know why you never laid a finger on Cassie during high school," Raphael continued to step toward Dean, Uriel and Zack looking around, paranoid. "You probably had all kinds of homo feelings for him then too."

"Maybe," Dean raised his eyebrows suggestively. "My 'homo' feelings are just so out of control. Like every man attracted to other men, I'm naturally obsessed with every dick that walks my way. So tell me Raphael, how many times did we change in the locker rooms together back then?" He cocked his head curiously to the side.

His comment brought a visible scowl to Raphael's face, his feet finally coming to a halt with some ten or so feet between them.

"You're sick Winchester," Raphael determined. "Just like that ass-loving boyfriend of yours. And you deserve to suffer just like he did."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Dean asked through narrowed eyes. "You've always been the type to let your fists do the talking. Or your boots, be that the case."

"Don't I know it," Raphael grinned, the expression appearing to Dean one of anticipation. "I never thought I'd end up having to use my special talents on you, but I guess a fag's a fag. You're all equally disgusting."

"Why?" Dean asked. "Because Daddy says we are? Your father, who speaks for your god?" As Cas's father had. "You know, I heard your father is a prime suspect in the case for Cas. Since he's the one that gave the photos to Pastor Jim. Supposedly they were sent to him, but I'm betting that's not true, seeing as you were so well-versed in the position of my ass." He hadn't missed that little clue.

"You're so clever Winchester," Raphael mocked. "I'm fully aware of my father's position. And I'm also aware that there's no proof to link him to anything. Or anyone else close to him."

"Oh, so I guess that puts you in the clear then?" Dean asked. "Too bad. From what I remember, that backside of yours would have made a  _fine_  attraction to plenty of inmates."

"Shut up Winchester." He was scowling again.

"Just don't bend over," he teased.

"You'd know all about that," Raphael snapped. "The way you looked in those photos, I bet you bent over plenty of times for that freak."

"You have no idea," Dean winked.

"I'm gonna rip you apart."

"Go ahead," Dean pulled his hands from his pockets, stretching them out as if to open himself up to attack. "If they can't get you for almost killing Cas, at least they might if you take me out. After all, how many tracks can you really keep covering up?"

"There's no proof Winchester," Raphael smiled again, his voice soft. "Not to say I did it, but even if I did," he shrugged nonchalantly, "no one's going to get me for it. You know why? Because no one actually cares enough about your queeny boyfriend to go after the righteous man who almost succeeded in ridding the world of one more revolting cockroach."

Dean pursed his lips, it taking nearly all his self-control to keep his temper. "Righteous? You?" he laughed, honestly amused at such a claim. "Please. You may be the son of a pastor, but that doesn't make you any more 'righteous' than I am. We're the same you know," he glared. "Both stupid, useless laborers stuck in this town till we die. It doesn't matter whether I like it 'up the ass' or not, you're still going to be nothing when this is all over, just like me."

"I'm  _nothing_  like you," Raphael replied defensively.

"Yes you are," Dean's arms fell to his sides. "You're a coward who creeps up on innocent people when they least expect it. Tell me, was it only you that attacked Cas, or did you do it in a group?" He turned his focus to Uriel and Zack. "What about you two? Were you there? I bet you were." He saw the way their expressions sank into further unease. "Pressure of the investigation getting to you?"

"Shut up Winchester!"

"It doesn't matter whether Cas was gay or not," he continued unhindered. "You'll burn for what did to him. Whether you're caught or not, that's a fate you can't escape."

"What I did was  _right_ ," Raphael growled.

"You almost killed an innocent man."

"I almost killed an abomination against God." He pointed at Dean then, his hand gripping the brick tighter. "And where I failed with him, I'll succeed with you."

"Go ahead and try," Dean egged on, finally giving in to his temper, his lips curling at the sides. He took the initiative, finally, and made the first step toward Raphael, which only angered the other man more.

Within moments they were on each other, Dean pulling his arm back and swinging as violently as he possibly could. He knew he didn't stand much of a chance, not against Raphael and his three followers. Even alone, he'd have been on the losing end. Raphael had always been the better fighter.

But for Cas, he'd do what he could.

His fist made contact, landing squarely against Raphael's chin and sending him stumbling backward. One hit was hardly enough to keep such a man at bay however, his body surging forward as he ducked and threw all his weight into Dean. Body slammed, Dean felt all the air leave his lungs as he was thrown to the ground. Landing in the snow with a great "fwamp," he could feel Raphael's weight on top of him, the man's fist coming down and lambasting him in the jaw before he could react. His face cracked, stars surged up into his brain. He hardly had enough time to recover before another hardened fist came down on his face, sending it rocking the other way.

Holding up his arms, he blocked his face as best he could, growling to himself as he attempted to throw Raphael away. His attempts were too little avail and he knew that if his plan hadn't worked, he'd be in for a bad time of it.

Kicking up, he finally managed to throw Raphael off, rolling quickly back into standing as blood dribbled down from his nose and the corner of his lips. He could feel a throbbing bruise forming along his jaw, but it was hardly his main concern. Instead, ready, he waited until Raphael came at him again.

Expecting it, he grabbed Raphael by the collar of his jacket before whipping him around mid charge and slamming him into the brick wall of the apartment complex. He managed to knock the back of his head into the barrier, but that was all before he was once again overpowered. Reaching up and grabbing him by his hair, Raphael tossed him around to the side, Dean stumbling before being dragged up and feeling as his skull was harshly slammed into the brick in place of Raphael.

His vision blurred, his whole body wavering as Raphael pulled back and slammed those knuckles into his face again.

His head bounced back into the wall once more, eyes rolling.

In the moment his sight was thrown to the side however, he saw it –

Those flashing lights come barreling into the parking lot to the left.

He grinned a bloody grin.

Spotting the police cars – five of them – come screaming into the lot as well, Raphael stopped in his beating, his eyes wide as he realized he'd been caught. But this wasn't the first time the cops had had to break up a fight between him and someone else. Dropping Dean, he watched in some satisfaction as he crumpled down against the wall, still wearing the humored smile on his face.

"This doesn't mean anything Winchester," he hissed as the cops came jumping through the snow toward them. "There's still no proof."

"Freeze, all of you!" A female cop shouted, her gun pulled up. Multiple others trailed her, the group soon getting between Raphael and Dean, pushing the former back while two holstered their guns and attempted to help Dean to his feet.

Raphael's hands were secured behind his back, but such a state wasn't exactly new to him. Uriel and Zack had their hands in the air, surrendering easily, and Dean tried to steady his wavering vision as he was pulled to his feet.

"What the hell is going on here?" Sheriff Mills approached, her voice ringing out across the snow. "Dean, Raphael, what do you think you're doing?!" She noticed immediately the state of Dean's face, swollen and bleeding, versus Raphael who appeared far less injured.

"Sorry Sheriff," Raphael apologized flatly. "Guess I let my temper get the better of me again." He grinned. Mills didn't seem the least bit impressed however, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Dean," she looked to him then. "Don't you think you've been getting enough attention lately? What are you thinking getting into a fight during a time like this?" During a time when an important, national investigation was going on, one he was somewhat in the middle of.

"Sorry," he apologized against his swollen cheek. "I couldn't help taking advantage of the golden opportunity." She stared at him curiously, her brows pulling together as Dean shook one of the cops off of him and reached into his pocket. They immediately reacted, pulling out their guns, but soon settled when they saw it was his phone he was retrieving. Watching him, Raphael's eyes widened when Dean handed the contraption to the Sheriff. "Got you a confession right there."

"Confession?" she asked, taking the phone.

"His," he nodded to Raphael. "Admitting to the Castiel Case." All the cops turned to look at Raphael, whose face had fallen into a gape. Uriel's and Zack's too for that matter, Dean feeling that all the pain had been worth it.

"Really…" Mills stared down at the phone for a moment before turning to her fellow officers. "Get them into the cars for assault and battery," what they'd done to Dean. "We'll listen to this confession down at the station." She eyed Dean again. "Take him too." And so all four were shoved into the cruisers, Dean not the least bit bothered as he watched Raphael's wide, shocked eyes vanish behind closed doors.

Leaning his head back against the seat, he took a deep breath, smiling still.

**oOo**

"You're an idiot," Sam was saying over the phone, Dean using his one call to get ahold of his brother in order to tell him he was alright. "I bet you got a few scratches out of it. I can hear how swollen your face is through the phone."

"Haha, yeah," Dean was in rather high spirits. "I knew you'd pull through though, calling the cops. How longed you wait before letting them know something was happening."

"Well, I figured it'd take you a minute to get him to admit to it, so I waited five minutes after you'd hung up on me before letting them know."

"Good man," Dean would have smiled further, but his face hurt when he tried. "I knew it was him the whole time, what with Pastor Raguel the one giving Cas's dad the photos. I think Mills knew it too, but just didn't have any reason to call him in on it." Because she hadn't been the least bit surprised to hear that he'd gotten a confession on his phone.

"It'll be all over the news tomorrow," Sam sighed.

"Yeah, Mills already told me that Chuck and Gabriel are waiting outside to talk to me."

"You'll be a hero for doing what you did," Sam murmured quietly.

"I don't really care about any of that," he shrugged to himself. "Just so long as those bastards get what they deserve. Because I know, if there were others involved, Zack and Uriel won't hold out long. They looked terrified to be throwing bricks into my windows in the first place."

"Probably good and scared because of the investigation."

"Yeah."

"Cas is gonna hear about this you know," Sam continued. "The media is going to romanticize the shit out of what you did. I can see the headlines now – 'Beaten victim's boyfriend puts himself in harm's way to bring aggressors to justice,' or something like that."

"Doesn't make it true," Dean countered, mostly referring to the boyfriend thing.

"Winchester!" It was Sheriff Mills, Dean turning from where he was speaking into the phone attached to the concrete wall to face her. "Let's go."

"Gotta run," he said to his brother.

"Keep me posted!" Sam was yelling as the phone was hung up. Turning, Dean followed the testy looking sheriff from the designated calling area, down the precinct hall, and into the interviewing room. He knew she wasn't considering him a threat, what with the lack of escorts, and he gladly sat down at the metal table, florescent light shining coldly down on him. She slid into the chair across from him, her severe lips set in a straight line.

"I don't advocate what you did," she started eventually. "That was quite the stunt you and your brother pulled. One that could have gotten you killed." She raised her eyebrows at him, scolding him like she had the few times she'd had to break up the bar fights he'd started over the years.

"That doesn't matter," Dean wiped some blood from under his nose. "Did you get the confession?"

"… Yes…" she admitted. "We would have gotten him Dean. Maybe not as quickly as you wanted, but we would have." She took it as a personal affront that he'd taken it upon himself to do her job. "I know some of the cops under me are crooked, but that wouldn't have stopped  _me_  from solving this case."

"I know that Jody," Dean replied easily, having gotten to know the woman pretty well since his parents had died. She was good friends with Bobby. "The opportunity was just too perfect to pass up."

"And now you get to be Castiel's hero?" She seemed to think she knew him rather well.

"Hah… yeah…" his eyes fell away, to the table, his response causing the sheriff to furrow her brows, but suppose it was likely none of her business. "At least I got to go out with a bang?"

"Go out?"

"I'm leavin' town," he verified, catching her eyes again. "Don't really fit in here anymore, if you get me." She did. "Gonna go live with Sam for a while till I can get a situation figured out."

"Well, don't cut all ties," she instructed formally. "Once this case gets pushed through to the court, we'll need both you and Castiel Novak to take the stand." Because the hate crime case was being pushed through by the state. Well, by the entire country really.

"Yeah, I figured," he nodded.

Mills looked him up and down then, as if surveying his injuries, before sighing and getting to her feet. "C'mon Dean," she waved him into standing. "Go home. Sleep it off." He nodded, supposing that was probably the best option, and soon he was sitting in the back of a cruiser on the way back to his apartment (he'd told Chuck and Gabriel that he'd speak to them in the morning). Released, he headed up the stairs to his home and was all the more irritated to note that three of his windows had been taken out upon walking in the door. He couldn't just let the snow keep drifting in. So, despite the state of his face, he turned right around, got in his Baby, drove to Wal-Mart, and spent the majority of the hour following his return tarping up the windows with the plastic he'd bought. Satisfied, he finally allowed himself to collapse into bed, not even bothering to clean up as his head hit the pillows and he was put to sleep.

He didn't wake up until the irritating, constant rapping on his front door finally reached his ears. Sore and feeling even worse in the face than the night before, he'd taken his time answering, going first to the bathroom and splashing his face, surveying the damage done.

Swollen lip, scratched nose, large bruises forming on his jaw and under his right eye. But it could be worse he supposed.

He'd seen worse, Cas's image flitting across his mind's eye.

Shaking his head, he then went to the door, welcoming Gabriel and Chuck into his apartment with little enthusiasm. He wasn't quite sure how they'd heard about what had happened in the first place – maybe Sam told them – but he figured it was better dealing with them than some reporter he didn't even know. And so, once coffee was served, he sat them both down and told them what happened, Gabriel holding up a voice recorder and Chuck taking avid notes. They probably spoke on the subject for the good part of an hour, both quick to leave with the intents of getting statements from the police next. Dean was happy to see them go, his chest only a little lighter knowing the man who'd caused all this misery and pain was sitting behind bars.

Following his shower, the rest of his day was spent in his apartment, his hands slowly organizing everything he owned and setting apart what little he could fit into his car accordingly. That was how he spent a good portion of the next few days actually, only leaving to get boxes and to stop by the police station to be filled in on the situation.

Two others had been exposed as being involved and been arrested, taking the total count to five.

He was satisfied.

Soon enough, he was speaking to his landlord about leaving, and apologizing for the windows (though they were covered by insurance). Shoving as many boxes as he could into his car, he was dumping what he couldn't take at the local goodwill.

It was only with a little trepidation that he then left Burr, the open road stretching out before him.

**oOo**

He'd considered stopping for the night, as he'd done before, but he found the empty freeway to be far more appealing. At nearly three in the morning, it was basically empty, leaving him alone to simply drive. He had the stereo going, his vintage tapes playing round and round as the days, and nights, passed. The boxes and suitcases in the back shook occasionally, when the Impala hit small bumps in the road. It hardly drew his attention however, his eyes trained on the ignited road before him.

Sometimes he passed signs directing him, his aim Massachusetts. Harvard, where his brother was. Yet whenever one cropped up, with it's helpful little arrows, and pointed him toward Chicago, he had to forcefully looking away. He was, as it were, just passing below the city, skimming along southern Illinois. He figured that, by morning when he'd passed the city entirely, the green signs would be less bothersome to him.

Maybe that was why he kept driving.

The speakers were blaring, making it difficult to both hear and think. Which was probably why, the first three times his phone rang, he missed it completely. It just so happened that, as his tape paused to change from one track to another, his phone was going off at the same time. Glancing quickly over to the lip of the box stacked up in the passenger seat, Dean reached out to it, not bothering to check who it was that would be calling him so early in the morning (no matter their time zone). He turned off the stereo in the same motion.

"Hello?" he asked, his voice gruff and growly, as he'd barely said anything the last two days.

"Oh thank god you finally picked up." It was a female voice, one Dean thought he recognized, but wasn't quite sure. Brows pulling together, he continued to drive while also attempting to figure out who it was. "I've been trying to get a hold of you all night. Chuck said you'd left Burr."

"Wait… Anna?" he asked finally. "Why are you calling me? How'd you get my number?"

"I got it from Chuck," she explained hastily. "But that doesn't matter. Listen, Dean, you're heading cross-country, right? Chuck said you left a few days ago. That you were headed out to Massachusetts where you brother is." Information which he'd divulged to both Chuck and Gabriel before leaving, in case they needed to get ahold of him again and showed up at his now empty apartment.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"You've got to be pretty close to Chicago by now, right?"

He frowned, a thin ache shooting through his chest. "I'm not  _exactly_  near it, no," he replied vaguely. "Why?"

"But you've got to be about under it now, right?" She groaned then, Dean realizing for the first time how anxious she sounded. "It doesn't matter where you are," she finally decided. "I don't care if you've somehow gotten to Massachusetts already, you need to come to Chicago."

"Uh, yeah, I don't think so," he replied stiffly.

"Dean, this is important!" her voice cracked, her breath shaking slightly – enough for him to hear through the phone. Resituating himself in his seat, he felt the inklings of concern begin to creep through him, despite how he tried to deny the sensations.

"Anna, what's wrong?" he asked after a moment, rather dreading what her response was going to be.

"It's Cas," she verified his fears. "He's been in and out of seeing his physician the last few days." This caught Dean's attention, his face becoming alert as he stared out at the road. "But we're running out of options," she sounded like she was breaking down there on the phone, Dean's eyes widening. "He hasn't slept in the last three days Dean," she began to cry. "We've been with him all the time, but the attacks just keep coming more and more often."

"Attacks?"

"Panic attacks. Anxiety attacks. He can't control them. He tries to go to sleep and wakes up in moments… freaking out. His doctors have given him some medications, saying it might take a little time to start working, but he… he…" She took a second to catch her breath. "He spends more time recovering from each attack than doing anything else. He's barely eaten anything, and whatever he does eat he throws back up. We're afraid we're going to have to take him back into the hospital to be put under again, which only sends him spiraling worse."

Dean tried to take this all in, his brain waking up from the repetitive stillness of driving as he considered all she was saying. "Well, why is it happening?"

"His doctor said that anxiety can sometimes be a consequence of severe head injuries. And sometimes I think Cas feels he's somewhere else, like it's that mixed with some sort of posttraumatic stress disorder. Like maybe his memory from the attack is trying to come back and I…" She cried some into the phone. "Dean, we don't know what to do."

"I…" he could feel his own heart speeding up, concern and worry weighing down on him. "What good will I be to him? He doesn't even remember me Anna." Not in the way he wanted anyway.

"I know," she replied helplessly. "But I just… we're running out of options. And he keeps those flowers you got him wherever he can see them, like they're comforting to him or something. I don't know. I don't know."

"Alright, alright," he tried his best to keep his voice even, so as not to portray how his own nerves were beginning to panic. "You want me to drop by? Have you considered that seeing me might only make it worse?"

"I don't know how it could get worse Dean," she verified brokenly. "If it does get any worse, we're going to have to keep him under." Sedate him to the point of little to no responsiveness. If only to calm his system for a little while. "I just… none of us can get through to him anymore. At first, we could calm him down some, but now… He can't hear us anymore."

"I'm coming up on highway fifty-seven in Illinois right now, coming off of seventy," he told her. "That should take me straight up to Chicago. I could maybe get there in four hours, but I'm thinking it'll take closer to five or six. And then I have to get through the city. I've… never been to Chicago."

"I'll send Balthazar to meet you outside the city so you can follow him in," she replied, hardly sounding relieved that he'd agreed to come. "Please hurry Dean."

"There's no guarantee I can do anything," he replied. "If this is because of his head, then me being there isn't going to make a difference."

"Then we'll have run out of ideas," Anna replied softly, Dean pursing his lips.

"Are you with him now?" he asked, bringing the Impala into the parallel lane in order to change highways.

"I'm standing outside his apartment building," she explained. "We just managed to get him down off another attack. But he can't sleep Dean, and he's so pale. And he shakes all the time."

"You're not exactly easing my drive here," he muttered, his foot pushing down harder on the accelerator.

"It's the truth," she insisted, having apparently reeled in some of her own panic now that he'd agreed to come up there. "Hey," she sounded abruptly thoughtful, "what if you talked to him right now? Maybe, if you talked to him… maybe that would keep him calmed down for a while."

"I don't understand why you think Cas talking to me, or seeing me, is going to do anything."

"He kept your plant Dean," she murmured. "And when he saw on the news what you did in Kansas to catch that Raphael guy, he got  _really_  upset." Because that was a good thing at this point? "Not in the panicky way, but in the worried about you way. Even if his head doesn't remember you, I think other parts of him do. Maybe if he hears your voice…"

Dean sighed, uncertain. He wasn't a doctor, or a shrink. And the only reason he was going to Chicago at all was because it sounded like everything had fallen to shit and he wasn't okay with that. Cas was supposed to be getting better, moving beyond him and everything that had happened in Kansas. Not continuing to suffer. Hadn't he been through enough?

"I don't think it's a good idea Anna," he decided to be the rational one. "I know you're hoping for some kind of miracle, or something, but I don't think Cas talking to me on the phone is a good idea. Let's just… wait until I get there, alright?" Because Anna was panicked, and tired, and defeated, and was grasping at straws. "Just a few hours longer and I'll be there."

"… Okay…" she accepted, supposing he was probably right. "Just hurry Dean."

"I'm going as fast as I can," he assured. Telling her he'd call when he was getting close, they hung up, Dean tossing his phone to the side again as a new wave of purpose overtook him. He didn't turn the stereo back on as he drove, instead distracting himself with counting down the distance, his heart jumping every time he came across a bright green sign announcing that Chicago was some fewer miles away. Hours passed, sometimes feeling like an eternity and sometimes far too quickly as he calculated how far he'd driven. The Impala's speedometer stayed at a steady rate of eighty to eighty-five, Dean supposing he'd have to give the old girl a good amount of TLC once he reached the city. She carried him onward however, his teeth grinding as his chest continually tensed with every thought of Cas that flitted through his head.

He knew it was dangerous, the speed he was going with the threat of ice and snow, but few of the flakes fell at all during his journey, the sky seeming to open up to the sun as the bright rays began to span the horizon from his left, pushing the clouds north. The rising day told him that he was getting close, that he had to be, and he was soon calling Anna, the two agreeing that Balthazar would meet him at a truck stop just outside where the highway entered the city. For half an hour he drove after that, soon pulling into the designated area to wait for his guide to show up.

It took Balthazar another half an hour to get outside the city, his small SUV soon pulling up next to the Impala. They didn't bother getting out into the chilled air, instead merely giving each other thumbs up (Balthazar first making a rude gesture to the state of Dean's face, to which he glared in response) before pulling back out onto the highway. Keeping close to Balthazar's bumper (because Anna had warned him about Chicago traffic during rush hour), he hardly had the patience to pay any attention to the big city. Mostly, he found the buildings skyrocketing up around them to be constraining, the busy traffic jamming.

It took them an hour to get their way into where Cas lived, Dean spotting Lake Michigan to his right as they drove up parallel to the beach. The sun was streaking across the frozen bits of the sand and water, sparkling the morning scenery. What few, spindly trees they saw were bare, heaps of snow piled up in designated areas along the road. People walking around in heavy winter clothes got continually in the way crossing the street, which only irked Dean further. And at one point they had to detour around an accident.

Yet as Dean peered out to the lake, their cars coming around a particularly open corner, he supposed there was a certain kind of harsh beauty in it. In the way the water broke out over the snow-covered beach, sifting between sheets of ice. The city buildings seemed to shoot up from the horizon proudly despite the heavy blanket Mother Nature had draped over everything. And the people weathered through it, refusing to take shelter from the hard environment as so many in Burr always had. Even in the dead of winter, there was energy.

As Cas had once stated to him: there was always something going on, something to see. Even at nine in the morning.

Turning off the main road they'd been taking, Balthazar led them further into the heart of the city. Between icicle-laden power lines and foggy, snow-coated street lamps. Cars were parked along the sides – some scraped clean, some not. Their tires rolled through recycled slush, slipping some when they came upon a stop sign. Until, finally, Balthazar pushed his car down a ramp into a parking structure set up beneath a towering apartment complex. As if entering a concrete bunker, he led Dean around to a row of guest parking spots, the Impala shaking into silence as he shut her down, afraid she might just fall apart right then and there.

Pausing for only a moment to collect himself, to flex his hands from their grip on the wheel, he soon pushed himself out into the chilled Chicago air, a shiver immediately running up his spine.

"Holy shit it's cold here," his teeth clattered, Balthazar coming around his car to meet him. Granted, they got snow in Kansas too, and cold weather, but he hadn't been expecting such a difference.

"Yeah, it's been a real rough winter up here," Balthazar told him, beginning to lead them across the garage weighed down in his heavy jacket, gloves, hat, and boots. "Record low temperatures and all that. But I think it's been like that all over the United States." Which simply meant that Chicago was colder than Kansas.

They weren't forced to stay out in it long however, entering through a set of sliding doors into a hallway that led onward to a set of elevators. Balthazar passed them by though, taking Dean around a corner to another set of automatic doors that opened up into a glass tunnel that carried them over the road outside. Staring down as they trekked through, Dean watched the cars move by below, still quite too worried to really take in the city fully.

Entering the building on the other side, Balthazar finally got them into an elevator, the steel trap taking them up, up, up to the penthouse. Dean surveyed Balthazar on their way, taking note of the bags under his eyes and the way his skin seemed to droop in exhaustion.

Dean's nerves were pushed closer to the edge.

After some moments, they reached the top floor, Dean glancing out the windows along the hall as they exited, supposing his intention had been to admire the height. Upon seeing how high up forty floors was however, he stepped back again, his stomach flipping. There was a reason he didn't like flying, and a reason he didn't like heights either.

There were two penthouses on the top floor, one on the left side of the building and one on the right. Anna was sitting outside the door on the left, standing immediately upon spotting them coming down the hall. Like Balthazar, she appeared equally as weary, red, puffy bags rounding her eyes.

"I thought you'd never get here," she said, her voice strained.

"Did you tell Cas he was coming?" Balthazar asked, as if they'd previously been debating whether to do so.

"I didn't," she shook her head, speaking quietly. "He was finally calmed down after the last attack and I… I didn't want to upset him again."

"Well, I don't think surprising him is a good idea either," Dean interjected.

"I know," she nodded. "I'll go tell him now. You just… wait by the door." She was addressing Dean. Supposing he didn't really have a choice in the matter, Dean nodded, sighing as Anna turned and quietly pushed her way into the apartment. Following, Dean did as he'd been directed and remained by the door as it was closed behind him. The other two left, allowing him some time to look around.

To say it was a nice apartment was a bit of an understatement. But it was unique too, like Cas. The ceilings were high, the supports in the top revealed as the pipes wove back and forth. Except to the left, where the ceiling abruptly lowered, a spiral staircase leading upward into the masked area above. He could see the kitchen directly in front of him, the floors styled in black and white tile, the appliances stainless steel. The whole thing seemed to have very few doors and barriers, the kitchen, on one side, opening into the dining room along which there were large windows, a deck that was covered in snow overlooking Lake Michigan to the east. To the right, around a slight corner, he thought he could see the edge of a couch, perhaps the living area. And along the back he saw where there were some doors, leading into bedrooms and bathrooms perhaps.

He heard voices coming from the right, from where dim light seeped into the rest of the apartment. Straining his ears, Dean took one step closer so as to be able to listen better.

"Cas?" It was Anna's voice, the fact that Cas was just around the corner from him sending Dean's heart beating faster in his chest. "I, um," she tried to find the right words. "There's someone here to see you."

"I don't want to see anyone," Cas's deep voice replied. It sounded steady, but also tired. Very, very tired, and Dean's whole mood dropped even more if at all possible.

"I think maybe you should talk to him Castiel," it was Naomi, her tone somewhat gruff with what Dean could only assume was exhaustion. "He drove a long way to see you."

"Please…" Cas sounded so defeated, so much more emotional, than usual. Like there was just nothing to keep him propped up. A wilting flower. "I just want to be left alone."

Dean could tell this wasn't going anywhere. Deciding to take the situation into his own hands, he took a deep breath and allowed his boots to march rather noticeably across the tile floor. Tiles that turned into maroon carpet as he made his way into the living area of the apartment. Upon his approach, Cas's mother and two friends flicked their eyes up to watch him, Dean spotting the back of Cas's head from where he was sitting curled up in a sofa.

Cas must have heard him, he hadn't tried to mask his approach, but as he came to a stop just behind the couch, the man sitting there didn't even attempt to turn and look at him. Instead, their gazes lost and helpless, everyone else backed away, Dean pursing his lips before he allowed his feet to carry him around the arm of the couch to the front. Seeing a coffee table sitting before it, he gently sat himself down atop it, facing Cas, who had his eyes closed.

He looked like hell, or so Dean first noted. His lack of regular rest showed in every crease of his usually smooth face. In the way his body hunched in a sickly manner, his legs pulled up under him. He had a healthy growth of facial hair, the dark shadow only making him appear even more drawn and worn. He was dressed in pajama pants and a tank top, his arms marred with the marks of evaporated sweat.

And then, of course, there were still all the scars that scorned his skin. The cut over the bridge of his nose; the cast over his wrist. The way he sat, at an angle, as if to somehow comfort his injured hip. It brought all of Dean's worries and fears from before flooding back, his hands reaching forth and gently taking hold of Cas's, which were sitting in his lap. His calloused fingers gripped those artistically crafted foils, a rush of emotion assaulting him as he did.

Slowly, flutteringly, those blue eyes opened, Dean staring back into them intently.

Sluggish in detecting what was happening, that familiar gaze flicked across Dean's form, as if taking him in fully, before finally widening. Those lips tightened, his whole demeanor becoming even more stressed if at all possible.

Dean forced himself to remain calm however, instead deciding to flash a smile as he reached up and ran a single finger lightly along the dark facial hair littering his face.

"Nice peach fuzz," he commented lightly, his hand returning to Cas's a moment later.

"… Dean…" he finally managed to say, his lips remaining somewhat open after he'd said it.

"Yeah," Dean took up the mantle when it was clear Cas didn't know what else to say. "I heard you were having a hard time," he kept his voice calm and low. "So I thought I'd come and see how you were doing." His expression became sympathetic, his green eyes taking in as much of the man before him as he could.

"You… you came all the way here…?" Cas managed to choke out, that gravelly voice like music to Dean's ears.

"Well, I was already passing by and…" he shrugged. "I was on my way to Massachusetts. To see Sam." He paused. "Uh, my younger brother. At Harvard." Because these were facts he wasn't sure Cas would know anymore.

"You…" Cas's blue eyes remained focused entirely him, that broken head of his doing its best to work through the situation. "When I saw you… in the hospital," he visibly gulped. "Why didn't you say anything?" Though his question was broad, Dean knew what he meant, his eyes managing to fall away as he considered what to say.

"I…" he bit his bottom lip a moment. "I don't know Cas. Because I was hurt. Because you don't know me anymore. And it was because of what we were doing that… that you ended up like this…" His voice cracked a little.

"I ended up like this because of Raphael," Cas's voice was a little colder, Dean looking up at him again. "You didn't have anything to do with it." He took a shaking breath. "It's because of you that he was caught at all," those blue eyes looked over his face. "You got hurt too…"

"This?" Dean dropped that hand only long enough to point to his face, grinning shortly. "This is nothing," his fingers found Cas's wrist, the one not covered in a cast, and messaged it lightly. "I've had worse. More like battle scars, you know. Barely hurts at all." Which was somewhat true. Dean wasn't exactly new to physical pain.

"What you did was dangerous."

"Yeah, I know," he agreed. "But it doesn't matter Cas, okay? I'm alright. Don't… worry about me. You need to worry about you. Because… you look a lot shittier than I do." He smiled softly again, doing his best to make the comment encouraging. "I've been in bar fights worse than what Raphael did. And now he's put away, so he can't hurt anyone anymore. Not me and not you." He gripped that wrist a little tighter. "Especially not you."

"Is it all true?" Cas asked after a moment then, his gaze searching Dean's. "That… that we… that you and I were…" Still he found it difficult to accept, what his mother had told him. So impossible, in fact, that he couldn't even find the words to voice his question.

"Gettin' it on?" Dean joked, chuckling lightly and not caring at all about who else was listening. "Yeah, that's true." He leaned forward a little. "We had a  _lot_  of sex." Pause. "And other, you know, meaningful, chick flick moments too." He shrugged. "Guess those are important."

"Is it true that I… that I said I loved you?" He continued to ask, as if needing verification from Dean himself. "That I asked you to move in with me?"

"Ah, yeah…" Dean kept himself persistently steady. "You might have said a few things along those lines. I mean, the moving to Chicago thing.  _You_  know you've told me you loved me. Because that's twice now you've said it…" His attempts at humor weren't doing much good, Cas's gaze dropping away as his eyebrows pulled together in obvious frustration.

"Why can't I remember?" he asked quietly, painfully, his casted hand slipping from Dean's to hold his forehead. "Why have I forgotten this?" His voice broke a little, Dean's eyes widening as he leaned in a little closer.

"Hey, hey, it's okay Cas," he assured, not sure whether he agreed with what he claimed or not. "You're okay. Don't get upset."

"I want to remember," he admitted brokenly, his whole body sagging as his fingers gripped tightly at the skin over his forehead. "I want to remember you," tears came quickly to his eyes, unable to be controlled in his tired state. "Why can't I remember?"

"Cas, don't… don't cry okay?" Dean said quietly, his own voice shaking. "I'm the one that cries."

But his words couldn't stop Cas's tears, that face contorting in agony as those blue eyes closed against the pain. "I want to remember so badly, but I  _can't_ ," he kept saying. "Why can't I remember? Why can't I remember you?"

"You don't need to remember me Cas, alright?" Dean tried to reason, his hands coming up from Cas's to find a place on his shoulders, just at the base of his neck, his body leaning closer still. "I'm right here Cas. Right in front of you."

"I keep trying to remember and every time I do, all I get is… is… what happened? I don't know, but it's…" Not what he wanted to see. His chest started to skip, to bring in air at shorter terms, and Dean saw everyone else in the room tense up.

"Cas, Cas, c'mon," Dean squeezed his shoulders a little tighter. "I'm right here. I'm sitting right in front of you. And I'm not going anywhere. Focus on me, alright? Don't worry about what happened before. Look at me now, right here. I'm sitting right in front of you Baby, just look at me."

"How can I know how important you are and not remember why?" Cas asked desperately.

"It doesn't matter why," Dean murmured. "Don't worry about that. Don't worry about those memories. Just leave them be. Don't think about them." Because that was why he went into the attacks, or so Dean was reasoning to himself. He was trying to remember so badly and in doing so was getting the horror of the beating instead. "You don't need them Cas, okay? Everything that happened between us we can find again, I promise. So don't worry about that. Look at me, here, now, in front of you. I'm right here Baby, please. Please just look at me." He was practically begging by the end, feeling, with every hastened breath that Cas took, that he was slipping away.

"How do I know you're  _real_?" he asked finally, his blue eyes then opening to look back again.

"I'm real Cas, I'm real," he assured, his hands coming up to hold those scruffed jaws, his thumbs going out and wiping the tears from below his eyes as they continued to fall. "It doesn't matter if you remember what happened between us or not. That doesn't define how we feel. You can sense it, which is enough. I'm real Baby. I'm right here with you." Leaning as far forward as he could, he placed his forehead against Cas's, his green eyes taking in those blue as intensely as he could. "You don't need to worry about remembering. I'll remember for both of us, okay?  _I'll_  remember, and I'll assure you that it happened, and that I'm here, and that I  _do_ … love you."

"Dean…" More tears, more closed eyes, more pain. His hand reached up and took a shaky hold on Dean's wrist, that frail, broken, hurting body trembling even more severely.

"It's okay," Dean closed his own eyes, placing his lips softy, gently, against Cas's for just a moment. "I promise it's okay Cas. I'm going to stay with you – as long as you want me to." He kissed him again. "I'm going to be here, real, right in front of you, and we'll make new memories for you, okay?" Again he kissed him, even as those lips contorted in agony. "And I'll make you  _better_ ," Dean's own voice broke, tears soon streaking his cheeks as well. "I promise I'll make you better," he kissed him again and again. "So please,  _please_ , don't think about it." What he'd lost. "We'll make up for it. I'll stay with you. I'll stay."

"D-Dean," he cried softly. "Dean…"

"I'm right here Cas. I promise, I'm  _right here_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Together again ^-^ Poor Cas though...


	18. Blinded Trust

"Hey," Dean said groggily into the phone as he lowered himself into the unfamiliar couch. Glancing around, he continued to digest Cas's apartment. The well-styled furniture and the paintings on the walls; the collection of intricate vases he had set-up throughout and the openness that Dean could tell had been left purposefully throughout the place. All the plants. He felt like a foreign object floating around, actually having to think about it before he decided it was probably okay to set his socked feet up on the coffee table.

"Afternoon," Sam replied into the phone, sounding far too upbeat for Dean's mood. "What's up? You reached Ohio yet?"

"Uh, no," Dean replied, the room around him otherwise silent. Incredibly, to the astonishment of Anna, Balthazar, and Naomi, Cas had been asleep for the last five hours, a feat he hadn't even approached for three days. Initially, when he'd finally calmed down enough to pass out, Dean had lifted him from the couch and carried him into the bedroom (at the direction of Naomi). There, he'd sat with him for a while, the other three waiting in bated breath for the worst.

But Cas didn't wake up and, as he could see how utterly exhausted they all were as well, Dean mentioned that maybe they go home. He'd promised to call if anything happened – if Cas woke up in a panic – and, with some few objections from Naomi, they all finally vacated the apartment. Naomi called every hour to see how things were going, the other two also doing so occasionally, but so far there'd been nothing to report.  _Dean_  had even fallen asleep for a few hours, Cas's head lying on his chest as he'd made himself comfortable in the bed beside him.

At the current however, Dean had woken up. Checking his phone, he'd seen one missed call from his brother, probably just checking in, and was calling him back to give him the skinny on all that had happened.

"Really? Something happen? I would have thought you'd be in Ohio by now," Sam continued on, totally oblivious.

"I had to take a slight detour," Dean admitted, his fingers running along the edges of one of the coasters Cas had sitting on the end table beside the couch. "I'm actually… in Chicago."

Pause.

"Really?" Sam asked almost hesitantly. "…Have you seen him?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded to himself, picking up the coaster and taking in the blue and white patterned print outlining it. "Anna called me last night and asked me to come see him," he continued to explain. "Things haven't been going all that well since he got home."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been having these chronic panic attacks for the last few days," Dean explained. "Only just this morning did he finally fall asleep. It's been pretty rough, or so I've gathered." He ran his touch along the ceramic coaster, feeling the way the glazed pattern hit his fingers.

"Wow, is he okay?"

"I dunno," Dean admitted honestly, sighing as he put the coaster back down again. "The doctors seem to think it has something to do with his head injury and they've got him on some pretty heavy medications," that hadn't been helping much, "but I think it might have more to do with him trying to remember what he forgot and getting bits of what happened that night with that asshole Raphael." He frowned, remembering that Anna had mentioned as much.

"So he's remembered something then?" Sam asked.

"No," Dean shook his head. "It's more like, when he's having the attacks," or so Naomi had been explaining earlier, "he remembers parts of it, but when it's over, anything that came back to him is as good as gone again." Which wasn't helpful at all. As he'd said earlier, Dean would rather Cas remember none of it than deal with trauma like that, at least with the way it was affecting him. But if all he was getting were flashes of being beaten, then it was no wonder he was so exhausted.

"Are you there now?" Sam asked. "With him?"

"Well, not 'with him' at the moment," Dean clarified. "I'm sitting out in his living room. He's asleep in the bedroom." Or had been last he'd checked. "I just wanted to let you know that I think I might… be postponed in coming out there. I don't know for how long, but I think I'm going to have to stay here for a little while."

"That is  _perfect_ ," Sam replied far too gladly. "You stay out there with him as long as you want." He wanted to say, "how about you just move in with him?" but thought that might be a bit much. "I'm assuming he wants you there?"

"I… I think so," Dean leaned forward on the couch. "He still doesn't remember anything that happened between us, but he seemed to appreciate the fact that I was here this morning." He paused, his lips falling into a flat line. "I am a little surprised that Michael isn't here though…" He hadn't even thought to ask about the other man until that moment.

"You know Dean," Sam laughed a bit, "if Cas really is happy to have you there, then I'm betting Michael isn't part of the equation anymore." Otherwise, if Cas really was in that bad of shape, he was betting his "boyfriend" would still be there.

"Mmm," Dean was thoughtful. "I'm not going to make any assumptions until I can ask him about it."

"So… he really wants you there even though he can't remember the week you guys spent together?"

"Seems that way," Dean leaned back into the couch again. "I dunno, it's like… even if his head doesn't know what happened between us, another part of him does." Or maybe he was just telling himself that to feel better about the whole thing. "Or it's just wishful thinking."

"What does it really matter?" Sam replied easily. "You're there, with him, and he wants you there. So… make him fall in love with you again. Or re-realize he's in love with you."

"I think he… knows he was, is, in love with me…?" Dean wasn't quite sure what that status was. And he had the feeling that Cas didn't either. "I don't know. Sometimes I think it's just as confusing for me as it is for him."

"Well…" Sam started thoughtfully, "maybe you're thinking about it too hard." Dean remained silent to listen. "Maybe it's really just as simple as him wanting you there and you wanting to be there. If you both just… take it easy for now, get re-acclimated with each other, then maybe you'll be able to figure it out later." He just didn't want Dean to bail out of fear of rejection or something.

"Well, I don't think I have much of a choice otherwise at the moment," he sighed. "You didn't see him Sam," his voice dropped a little quieter. "He's so… broken. It's a little scary really," he admitted. "I mean… what if he doesn't get better?"

"You can't think like that Dean."

"It's terrifying," his voice became suddenly strained. "What if he's hurt permanently? Sammy, if these attacks don't slow down, if he can't get over this, it's going to kill him." Once more leaning forward, he shadowed his eyes with his hand, rubbing some of the weariness back against his hair. "The sheer stress of it will be too much."

"You're there with him now," Sam soothed. "And he wants you there, so he must take some comfort from having you around. It's only been a few days since he got home; he's hardly had time to recover. Just… be patient. These things do take time. Support him and help him and I'm sure he'll be alright."

"I just…" Dean tried to keep his breathing controlled. "I don't want to lose him again."

"And you won't," Sam assured. "Cas is strong. He made it through high school with you after all," a joke. "He'll be alright. Just be patient. He's been through a lot and it's going to take some time for him to cope with that. That's all. Give him the chance to heal. And you know what they say," Dean could practically see the way his brother was waggling his eyebrows, "love's the best medicine."

"Hmm, yeah, okay," he answered vaguely, taking his brother in humor while also actually considering the notion, as he had been most of the day. He wasn't sure how personal he was actually allowed to be with Cas. Or, rather, how personal the other man wanted him to be. When they'd initially gotten together, their relationship had started in a whirlwind of passion and lust. As of the current however, Dean wasn't even sure Cas could… do that. Not with his hip anyway – kind of a crucial body part. "In any case," Dean continued, "I should probably go. I don't want Cas to be left alone when he wakes up. I guess that's when he tends to have his panic attacks."

"Alright," Sam agreed, the two saying their goodbyes before Dean hung up his phone. Staring down at in his hand, he remained sitting thoughtfully for a moment before ultimately deciding to go see how Cas was doing. Standing, he turned back to the bedroom, starting in surprise when he spotted Cas standing in the doorway, staring at him.

"Cas," he blinked dumbly. "How long have you been up?"

"A few minutes," his deep voice replied, Dean looking him up and down as if to approve his condition. He had his cane, his color appearing better now that he'd gotten some sleep.

"I was just… talking to Sam," Dean explained somewhat awkwardly.

"I heard," was the honest response, Dean thinking back on his conversation and supposing there wasn't anything he'd said that he'd have rather Cas not heard.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the tone of his voice making it clear that he wasn't simply asking to hear any answer. Cas realized this as well, his blue eyes falling away as he focused down on the floor.

"I… I felt really tense when I woke up," he admitted, Dean's lips pursing, "but I heard you talking out here and the… the sound of your voice was oddly calming." He said as much as though it were an observation, Dean supposing it would do little good to be flattered.

"Well, whatever works man," Dean shrugged, a small grin forming across his face. "I'm just glad to see you up, and not… freakin' out."

"I apologize," Cas said abruptly. "You must think I'm… weak…"

"Ah, no Cas, that's not what I meant," Dean's smile faded. "You're not weak. You're just… hurt, that's all. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Hurt…" Cas didn't look back up at him. "Maybe I am. Maybe I deserve it." Dean furrowed his brows. " _I_  hurt a lot of people, didn't I? You, Michael, my family. You said that you… that you lost me. I'm sorry if I…"

"Cas, that's not what I was saying," he stepped around the couch, approaching the other man by the bedroom door. He almost reached out to him, to touch him in some way, but held back at the last moment. "I was just talking… talking about the accident."

"In which I forgot everything," Cas replied guiltily, "and left you."

"Cas, don't," Dean did reach out to him then, his hand landing on his shoulder. "That wasn't your fault. I don't blame you for that. Don't focus on the accident or trying to remember. I don't think that's going to help you."

"I just don't understand," finally those blue eyes came up. "How did I… get you to… love me?" He said it almost like he was quoting Dean's words from the morning, when he'd admitted his feelings (which wasn't something Dean usually made a habit of doing).

"Damn Cas," Dean smiled again. "It's not like you cast a spell on me or something." His hand fell back to his side. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I could be attracted to you?"

"Because," Cas furrowed is eyebrows. "You're… Dean Winchester."

Dean almost rolled his eyes, halfway to saying "here we go again."

"And you're Castiel Novak," he replied simply. "Nice to meet you," he held out his hand, as if spurring the other man to shake it. "We went to high school together, you once told me you were in love with me, and I handled it poorly. Turns out it's because I was a closet bisexual, other sources even seeming to think I was attracted to you back then." His hand fell back down again. "Does that answer your question?"

"I've… asked you this before, haven't I?" Cas deduced.

"It's okay," Dean assured. "I don't mind. At least I know what to say now." Which would make his side of this whole thing easier to deal with, in any case. "Really Cas," he gestured down at himself, "I'm no one special. Though I appreciate you thinking I am."

"You are special Dean," Cas hobbled toward him, his hand reaching out and lying gently on his t-shirted chest. "Even if you can't see it."

Dean smirked. "I could say the same about you."

Those lips pulled into the smallest of smiles, Dean only managing to see it at all because he knew what to look for.

"I'm glad you're feeling okay," he reached up and let his finger trail Cas's facial hair, finding it oddly endearing. "Let's see if we can keep it that way."

"I think maybe having you here helps," Cas said thoughtfully, his hand falling away. "When I woke up, I was… afraid what had happened this morning hadn't been real. But then I'd heard you out here and it'd made me feel… very happy." Those blue eyes were turned onto Dean's green once again. "I was happy with you before, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," Dean assured, taking a chance and stepping a little closer to him. Hands coming up, they gripped at Cas's upper arms lightly, the space between them seeming to thin the longer they spoke to one another until, finally, they were only inches apart. "So…" Dean's thumbs rubbed his arms gently, Cas blinking at him. "How would you feel if I…" he clicked his tongue thoughtfully, "kissed you. Right now." Because he didn't want to surprise him.

Cas's cheeks pinked slightly. "That would… be very pleasing… I think."

"Good," Dean grinned. "I'm gonna do that then."

"O-okay."

Those blue eyes blinked, Dean feeling Cas stiffen in his hold as, slowly, he brought his face forward. Warm breath splashing over each other, Dean didn't close his eyes until their lips were within a hair's breadth of one another. Delicately, much the opposite of how Cas had forced their first kiss, he let their lips meet. Butterfly touches, his heart racing as he carefully allowed himself the luxury of feeling those lips again, not quite sure if he believed it possible himself.

Cas wasn't the type to dawdle however, as Dean well knew, and just the mere brush of Dean's lips shot so excited a jolt through him that he had soon reached out and grabbed Dean's shirt, pulling him closer as their lips pressed fully together. Part of Cas was nervous, was screaming "this is Dean Winchester! What are you doing?!" but then he'd remind himself that, apparently, he'd done this all before. That he and Dean had been intimate to the point of sex, as he had the photos to prove.

If they'd truly been as fond of each other as everyone had claimed, as Cas felt, then certainly inhibitions such as nerves had no place. Certainly, then, Dean  _wanted_  him. Besides, Cas wasn't the type to be delicate about getting what he wanted. Dean, maybe, he'd been hesitant about, but that was because he was kissing  _Dean Winchester_. Otherwise, he made sure to go for what he wanted, not allowing his nerves to get the better of him. Convincing himself that this must have been how'd he'd acted before –

to have gotten Dean Winchester into bed – he stepped forward, deepening the kiss as his hands spread out across Dean's chest, running up along those taught muscles greedily.

And Dean, his own body sparking with excitement, pulled his hands up to hold Cas's face, his lips pulling equally in need and desire.

Because he had Cas again. Together, despite everything.

Cas moaned unintentionally from his throat, the vibration sending shockwaves down to the base of Dean's stomach as Cas, his cane having long since dropped to the floor, pulled his arms around Dean's back until their chests were colliding. Ever wanting, Dean sucked at that top lip – that incredible, alluring lip – and found his memory flashing with all the times it had travelled across other parts of him, his skin pricking at the idea.

As if sensing his thoughts, Cas pulled his lips to the side, brushing them down Dean's chin and heatedly over his jaw. And Dean, eyes still closed, took a shaking breath, his hands still holding that face close to his as he sighed heavily.

As he recalled where such behavior had taken them previously. Almost every single time.

But if there was one thing he wanted more than Cas, it was for the other man to be healthy. And Dean knew that such activities could actually, potentially, hurt him, which meant it wasn't okay.

No matter how incredible he knew it could be.

"We need to stop Cas," he breathed, gulping back his own disappointment.

" _Why_?" was the whispered objection he received, Cas's lips beginning to trail down his neck.

"Because I know where this is going," Dean forcefully – horribly and coldly even – pulled Cas's head back, subsequently halting their activities as those blue eyes flicked up to his own. "And you're injured. I won't risk hurting you more just because neither of us can keep our dicks in our pants." He eyed him warningly. "I know you."

"Dean," Cas practically whined his name. "Don't say that." Those blue eyes were ablaze, Dean reminded of the first time he and Cas had ever made out, and how that look had followed him everywhere he'd gone. Because for Cas, the potential for what they both wanted was new all over again. He couldn't remember what they'd done, and so was just as desperate as he'd been the day he'd grabbed Dean by the arm, pulled him to the Impala, and demanded they go back to his apartment.

But no, Dean had to be stronger.

"Your hip can't handle that right now Cas, okay?" he offered, forcefully holding the other man back from kissing him again. "So… maybe until you're better, we should just… not touch each other." Or something. However, the statement sounded absolutely ludicrous, even as Dean said it. "Or…" he tried to come up with a better option, "we could just… only do things where you're not… thrusting."

He shouldn't have said such an alluring word.

"Dean, I'm fine," Cas assured coldly, offended that someone else would dare tell him what he could and couldn't do. And as if to further reject the idea, he leaned forward again, it taking all of Dean's self-control not to simply give in and say "okay."

"Nope, I don't think so," he continued to push Cas back, which only, visibly, irritated the other man more, anger coating his desire in penetrating perseverance. It made Dean uncomfortable in that way that drove him absolutely crazy – in the best possible way. "Calm down Cas."

"I know you want it," Cas determined boldly, reaching out and grabbing Dean quite roughly between the legs, causing him to jump. "I can tell." Because they were both dealing with heat and stiffness between their legs.

"That…" Dean gulped, not sure how long he could keep fighting, "is uncalled for." This could easily lead to dangerous flirting.

"Tell me," Cas hissed seductively, "do you always let me top you? Or have we done it differently in the past?" Dean wasn't sure why, but his blatant reference to the act turned him on even more, which wasn't exactly working in his favor.

"Uh, well, yeah…" he gulped. "Generally speaking…" He cleared his throat. It was getting  _really_  hot.

Cas leaned up to his ear. "I want to be inside you Dean."

Wow, he really hadn't realized how seductive Cas could be.

"Uh…" he was getting dumb, he knew he was, and it took everything inside of him to pull himself back from the brink. "While that would be really nice, I, er, no. Just no."

" _Dean_ ," he moaned. "It doesn't have to be rough," those lips were on his neck again, Dean knowing he was giving in despite how he tried not to. "If you do it right, I hardly have to do anything. I'll just… lay there." Which wouldn't normally be something either man would want to do, but in this case…

Dean found himself falling to weakness, beginning to consider the notion rather seriously. Cas made a fair point after all. If he just laid on the bed, Dean could do all the work. And if he was careful not to come down too hard on Cas's hips…

"Dean," more whispers again. "Let's just go back to the bedroom." More kissing on his neck.

Glancing up at the ceiling, Dean weighed his options, ultimately deciding he didn't have any. They could pull it off. He was sure of that, even if his confidence stemmed more from desire than logic.

"Alright, c'mon," Dean made the decision in haste, not allowing himself the luxury of going back. Cas pulled back then, those eyes smiling in victory, which Dean supposed he had no choice but to accept. Bending down, he handed Cas his cane, which he took before limping his way back into the bedroom. He'd grabbed Dean's hand however, pulling him after while Dean swung the door closed behind them.

Going to the end of the bed, the cane fell to the ground again as Cas sat back gently, grabbing Dean by the shirt and tugging him down as well, lips once again smashing together. Holding himself up against the bed, Dean kept Cas's safety in the forefront of his mind, not wanting to put any kind of drastic weight on him. Because he had more injuries than just the hip. Cas was making it very difficult however, rough and demanding as he was being.

Pulling away, Dean took a deep breath, staring down at the man drawing him in. Deciding, amid the throbs coming up from between his legs, that it would be better to get Cas situated, he reached down and pulled that tank top up over his head, which Cas allowed him to remove willingly.

He almost balked at the bruises and cuts he'd then revealed, having not yet seen such marks, and the sight of them nearly killed his entire mood.

"Dean," Cas snapped his name, green eyes flicking up to his face, "I'm fine." He said it with heavy force, then reaching out and wrapping his hands around Dean's behind before gripping tightly and pulling him closer. Dean nearly collapsed into his lap, but instead caught himself on the other man's shoulders, steadying their balance as Cas's hands reached up without hesitance and forcefully towed Dean's jeans down, yanking his boxers partway off in the same motion.

As if, for every action Dean took in being careful, Cas was going to be more forcefully difficult. Apparently he didn't appreciate being treated like glass.

Bowing back, Dean bent down, his eyes meeting Cas's warningly as he crouched, taking hold of the rim of his pajama pants before carefully slipping them out from under him and off his body in one smooth gesture. Throwing them to the side, he felt his whole stomach surge at the sight of Cas's naked body, a view he'd been deprived of for nearly a week and a half – which was too long as far as he was concerned. Even as marked as it was, Cas was beautifully formed. Thinner than Dean, but well-muscled, his naturally tanner complexion aiding in his allure.

With his pants around his ankles and his boxers sagging down his hips, Dean leaned one knee up beside his partner before reaching under and around him. Attempting to scoot back against the cotton sheets as well, Cas did what he could to help Dean situate him further back on the mattress. Until finally he let go, head falling back into the pillows as he stretched out fully.

Stepping back off the bed again, Dean looked him over once more, admiring how Cas laid atop the sheets, those blue eyes continually focused on Dean's green, daring him to act.

Not needing much in the way of incentive, Dean yanked his shirt up over his head, dropping it to the side before he tugged his boxers off fully. Kicking them aside, he climbed up onto the bed, carefully situating himself over Cas, straddling the other's middle while also making sure his folded knees on either side of Cas's hips kept him suspended.

Cas, however, because to him it seemed the first time he'd seen Dean in such a position, couldn't help the way his eyes widened at the sight. At the way Dean so easily gave himself over, not at all bothered by what they were doing. Confidently and without any sense of self-shame – because he'd done this with Cas numerous times before – he revealed himself for Cas to admire, that finely sculpted body far richer than Cas had ever imagined it'd be. Because high school fantasies couldn't compare to reality, no matter how many years overdo.

"Oh," Dean's voice interjected nonchalantly, Cas still paused in taking in the sight of his erect form above him. "Lube. Do you have some?" Reaching easily over to his end table, Cas yanked open the top drawer, not even having to look away from Dean to pull a bottle out and up to him. "Thanks," Dean nodded, his tone as gruff as ever as he popped the cap, squeezed, and reached down to Cas to apply the needed amount to his own member.

Cas blinked, his entire chest catching as he felt those certain hands stroking him.

Yet, as if finally noticing the way Cas had paused in absolutely everything, Dean looked up, halting in his advances to stare questioningly at him. "What?"

And Cas wasn't sure what to say. Because Dean apparently had no idea the effect he was having. So many times, at least to the mind he had then, Cas had imagined having Dean all to himself. Coming to him confidently, wanting, as Cas had never imagined possible. Yet there he was, like some kind of wet dream come to life. Completely comfortable in what he was doing, in what was going to happen. As if it were simply a matter of course.

That sleeping with Cas was the most expected thing he could possibly do.

Pushing himself up by his elbows, Cas ignored the strain on his body as he leaned forward and laid his lips firmly against Dean's. The kiss was short, to the point, and Dean – because it'd taken him somewhat off guard – took a second to respond. But he did, their eyes closing in junction with the connection, which ended when they both ran out of breath.

"You have no idea how hot you are right now," Cas breathed as they separated, Dean smiling at the comment.

"I have a pretty good idea," he joked, gently pushing Cas back down into the sheets. He fell back easily, finally allowing a smile to form across his own lips. And because he couldn't possibly refuse such a look, Dean leaned down and kissed him again, the two sharing in multiple, chaste touches before returning to what had previously been interrupted.

It'd been a little too long since he'd indulged in Cas, Dean could admit that, and so, despite how he might have once taken his time to more fillingly appreciate feeling up Cas's naked form, he instead finished his initial intention with the lube before reaching out and grabbing Cas's good hand by the wrist, the lube soon replaced there.

Pushing himself up a little higher on his knees, Dean dropped his hold, staring down at Cas and waiting.

When the other man simply looked up at him however, he began to grow impatient. Mostly because he could tell by the look in Cas's eyes that he knew  _exactly_  what Dean wanted.

"C'mon, I know you want to do this," he said heatedly. "Don't act so 'coy.'" He actually made air quotes, as if, perhaps, the word had been one that Cas had used previously.

"Do I?" Cas asked with raised eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I don't remember." Dean glared despite Cas being able to joke about his condition being a good thing.

"What are you getting at?" he asked with a huffing breath.

"Show me," Cas said simply, deeply, with gravel in his voice. He held out his hand – as well as the lube – as if making both an offering up to Dean. "I'm supposing I did this previously, so show me."

"What, you want to watch me do it?" Dean asked, supposing he could do that too.

"No," was the firm response. "Use me Dean. Show me." Cas was perfectly certain that he could accomplish what Dean was asking, but he was getting a thrill out of watching the other man willingly submit himself. After all, had the agreement not been that they could only do this if Cas did nothing? For all the control he was taking of their foray, Dean was still preparing himself to receive, which turned Cas on more and more the longer he watched. Even in his heaviest high school dreams, he'd always assumed that Dean would top. Cas took both positions, really, and wouldn't have cared either way. But watching Dean prepare himself for something many a man his type would have considered beneath them was one of the most flattering compliments Cas had ever received, even if they had done it so numerous times before.

Dean laughed shortly in response to his command, his smile coming across crookedly. Shaking his head, he reached out and took Cas's hand, his other arm, which was lying atop the bed, propping Cas up again on his elbow as his fingers were brought up to those model lips, Dean's eyes hinting at mischief as he kissed them softly.

Before, without once blinking, he opened his mouth and allowed his tongue to drag along those artistic digits, soon enough pulling them entirely into his mouth and sucking greedily.

Taking in an abrupt breath, Cas leaned up further, his casted wrist supporting him as he watched Dean slowly pinch his fingers between his lips, their foreheads soon leaning together. Eyes closed, those fingers were dragged across Dean's tongue, pulling at his lower lip as they met the cold air. Wet and hot, Dean then took the lube, which he held in his other hand, and squeezed it, rubbing the liquid up and down where his mouth had previously sucked. And when those fingers were thoroughly coated, he gripped Cas's palm and slowly trailed those knuckles down across his collarbone, his chest, and onto his own taught stomach.

Until they hit that extended length, Cas's breath heavy and labored as he watched. With an agonizing kind of slowness, his fingers were smoothed over Dean's own desire, soon dragged beneath and enveloped in the heated air between his thighs.

Raising his hips some, Dean made himself more readily available, his own hand still guiding. Cas's slippery fingers were soon tipped against the waiting flesh there, which was heatedly expectant.

Blue eyes flicking up quickly, Cas watched as Dean's own expression turned into one of contented satisfaction, Cas's whole body jolting as his first finger entered. Not wanting to be completely incompetent, he helped Dean then, pushing his way further while Dean sank into the touch – as if it was the one feeling in the world he'd wanted to experience. Gaping in another breath, Cas savored the feeling of that tight fit, pushing himself in as far as he could go before then, slowly, pulling his finger free again.

And Dean, who wasn't in the mood for waiting, then collected Cas's second finger before luring his touch back. Cupping Dean in the palm of his hand, Cas pushed both fingers up into him, stretching out that waiting, heated passage as Dean released a shallow groan of satisfaction.

Everything inside Cas was throbbing.

And when Dean pulled him out again before going back, his own finger acting as the third alongside Cas's, the latter was pretty positive he could only be in a dream. Because Dean Winchester, in all his masculine beauty, was readying himself for Castiel, which was something that he'd never fathomed would ever happen – even if he'd made in known he'd wanted it that way.

Yet upon feeling confident they'd prepared enough, Dean pulled those fingers back out and placed them along his own length, his hand then reaching down and harnessing Cas's shaft. Holding him in place, his eyes caught Cas's, his hips lowering him down into place.

Cas hissed in a breath as he was engulfed, Dean dropping down on him fully and without much hesitance, a growl erupting from his throat as he took in Cas's gaze the whole time. Biting his lip, Cas tried to retain the eye contact, even as that tightness flexed around him, but found the task to be nearly impossible. Be it because his muscles, which were going on little sleep and no food, were quivering with weakness, or simply because he was so utterly defeated by Dean's enterprise. Gasping out, he gave in and closed his eyes, falling back and holding himself up with both hands as his whole body shuddered.

And Dean, more than satisfied with the reaction, placed his own hands on his thighs for balance before beginning to move his body up and down. Like Cas, he was soon having to give into his own indulgence, his gaze clouding as every thrust he created sent a thrilling shock through his whole body.

Cas, falling back in the sheets, savored the way he was pulled in and out, over and over and over, seemingly deeper every time. Reaching forward, he allowed his hold to grapple with Dean's thighs, if only to connect him more fully with the motion as those powerful legs pushed Dean easily into his wanton pattern. And when Dean pulled one of his own hands up to stroke his exposed desire into the rhythm, Cas blearily opened his eyes and allowed himself to watch, his own grip coming up to aid with Dean's endeavors.

It was mesmerizing really, the way Dean used him to reach ecstasy. The mere idea that, as his breathing became more and more labored, Dean was pulling all that pleasure from Cas himself enough to send the latter nearly to the edge. The way his growling moan got more and more annalistic with each thrust, his face pulled into an expression of feminine want. It was one of the most beautifully erotic things Cas had ever witnessed, his whole world seeming to zero in on the tight connection now established between himself and this other man.

They rocked together, Cas reliving the experience of being with Dean for the first time, and thinking to himself that, even if he had only gotten there by forgetting what they'd had before, he wouldn't exchange that moment for anything.

**oOo**

Standing out in the living room, Dean scrolled through the messages in his phone, his bare hips cocked to the side as evening sunlight streamed in through the window. Hardly shy, he stood alone in the big apartment, stark naked, and took note that Naomi had called him twice and texted him three times. She didn't seem worried, supposing in her last text that he and Cas had gone back to sleep. However, she also mentioned that she'd be stopping by around seven with dinner – because she wanted to make sure Cas was eating something.

Exiting out of his texts, Dean took note that it was nearing five-thirty, so he had some time yet before Naomi showed up. With little else in the way of immediate worries on his phone however, he tossed it back onto the couch before turning and retreating back to Cas's bedroom. The other man was still passed out on the bed, as exposed and bare as Dean. Grinning shortly to himself, Dean slid back onto the mattress – the empty side he'd previously vacated – and watched Cas for a moment.

Which was when he noticed it. The rushed, hitching way his breathing had developed and the way his eyes moved wildly beneath the lids. Blood running cold, Dean hastily considered his options, not knowing whether it would be better to wake him or let him sleep through it. Yet, before he could come to a conclusion, Cas was surging up in the bed, Dean's eyes wide as the other man took a single, gasping, desperate breath. As if he'd just surfaced from the bottom of a lake.

"Cas?!" Dean asked, noting the way his whole body was beginning to tremble, the breath he'd taken upon waking up doing little other than establishing the fact that he  _couldn't_  catch his breath. His eyes were wide, the sound of his rushed breathing once again echoing around the room as Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to face him.

"Cas!" he said, his tone harsher than previously. "Look at me! Hey! Breathe Cas! Focus!" But it was like his words weren't getting through, those fear-ridden blue eyes looking helplessly at him – as if Cas recognized that he was being addressed, but was unable to properly respond. Like his body was completely out of his control.

"Shit!" Dean swore. "Cas! You've got to breathe! Stop thinking about it, okay? Don't try and remember! Just think about breathing!" But no amount of telling him so seemed to have any effect, his whole body becoming stiff in Dean's arms. Like a giant cramp had overtaken him and was strangling his ability to control himself.

No amount of telling him anything was going to help. Somehow, Dean realized, he was going to have to get past the exterior panic.

But how?

He'd tried to research panic disorders earlier that day, but had come up with little else other than medications that could possibly help someone. But the medications Cas was on weren't helping, that much was clear. So what else could he do?

He wasn't a doctor, or a psychologist. His knowledge was limited to his own personal experiences, but he'd never had a panic attack before. Or, at least, not that he knew of. He'd been through traumatic experiences, but that didn't tell him anything useful. Rather, the only source he had was to hypothetically consider, if he were in Cas's position, what he would want that would help.

If he were alone, scared, and unable to control his own body, what would he  _want_?

"Cas, I'm here, okay?" Dean offered quietly, forcing his own distress from his voice. "I'm here with you." Wrapping his arms around Cas's shaking body, he pulled him in as tightly as he could, using every muscle possible to hold him. As if, should he hold tight enough, he'd stop the trembling.

He tucked Cas's body between his legs, wrapping them up around him as well and shielding him as best he could from whatever outside demons encroached on his consciousness. Muscles straining, he closed his eyes and leaned his lips into Cas's hair. He tried to hold him still, to control his body, and said the only things he could think of that might ease him.

"It's okay Cas, you're okay," he muttered, never letting up in his holding. "I'm here, you're safe. Everything's alright now." He repeated these things over and over again, uncertain whether they came from his mouth more so for his own sake or Cas's. But it was the only thing he could do. Just sit there and hold him and assure him everything was okay. There was nothing else he could give him.

The only thing.

He wasn't sure if it was something he'd done or not, but soon, to his relief, Cas's breathing began to become regular. His shivering lessoned, his body, after a few minutes of consistent stiffness, becoming putty in Dean's arms. Soon, he was actually holding Cas up, who seemed to have dissolved completely in Dean's embrace, his hands coming up to grip weakly at his chest.

Dean continued to murmur his comforting words, not wanting to stop until he was absolutely sure Cas was in control of himself again. And when a deliberate sigh left his lungs, Dean fell silent, waiting in bated breath for something to be done or said.

And when Cas spoke, he felt a heavy, stressful weight lift off his shoulders.

"That… wasn't the worst…" he said breathily, Dean daring to loosen his hold and look down at him.

"Not the worst?" Dean questioned skeptically. "It looked pretty bad to me." The first time he'd ever witnessed Cas actually going into a panic attack. No wonder his mother and friends had looked so distressed.

"No," Cas shook his head against Dean's collar, seeming to bury his head into his neck. "They usually last much longer. That wasn't that bad."

"Longer?" Dean asked. "Shit…"

"You pulled me out of it Dean," Cas whispered softly.

"What?" Dean was still looking down at the top of his head. "Yeah, I'm betting not." He was thinking more along the lines of them simply being lucky. If that was what one called luck in the first place.

"I mean it Dean," he persisted. "I could feel you holding me, and speaking, and hear your heartbeat." He burrowed further into him, if at all possible. "And I could calm down." He could will away the flashes and the fear, Dean's presence around him warding off all the bad things his damaged brain couldn't help inflicting. Even as he sat there, thinking about it, he felt the tightness rise again in his throat. "Don't let me go Dean," he begged. "Don't let go."

"Alright…" Dean had sensed the sudden rise in that voice, once again tightening his hold, though not nearly to the point previously. Eyebrows furrowed in concern, he laid his cheek atop Cas's head, stroking his back in a steady rhythm.

They must have sat there, simply holding on, for another fifteen minutes before Cas finally got up the courage to pull away. Blue eyes flicking up to Dean quickly, his cheeks reddened slightly, Dean frowning.

"I apologize," Cas eventually said. "I didn't mean to… be so bothersome."

"You're not bothersome Cas," Dean replied, trying his damndest to keep his voice light. "You're sick." He shrugged. "And that's not something to apologize for. We'll get you better." He ran his hand up and down his arm, trying to comfort him still.

"We were only together a week," Cas continued. "I don't expect you to put up with this. Especially since I can't even remember that week and-"

"Cas!" Dean groaned. "Stop! If I didn't want to be here, then I wouldn't be. Besides," he cocked a single eyebrow. "I don't have anywhere else to go anyway…" So there was no reason why Cas should feel bad. As it was, he was staying there without contributing anything. Of course, he hadn't even been there a day, but that didn't change the fact.

"You left Burr…" Cas furrowed his eyebrows. "And you… What did you do there? Why did you leave?"

"I, uh, was working for… Bobby… still…" he muttered, gaze twitching away in slight embarrassment. Cas had cocked his head curiously however, as if not understanding.

"You went to college though, correct?" he asked.

"Well I… I did… for one semester…" Dean's voice gave out a little. "I came back after my parents died though, to take care of Sam." He supposed they'd even have to rehash things he  _didn't_  want to talk about. "And I just… never went back."

"Your… your parents are  _dead_?" Cas muttered, clearly aghast, and Dean managed a chuckle. "I'm sorry Dean, I didn't…"

"Don't worry about it," Dean waved him off. "You've already comforted me about it, and it was a long time ago. I'd rather… not talk about it, if that's okay." Though with Cas he'd found it sometimes difficult to dissuade him from a subject once he'd latched onto it.

"So now you've left Bobby's Shop then, and you were headed out to see your brother?"

"It's more like I was  _forced_  to leave, actually," Dean clarified. "Burr didn't take too kindly to me being with you and, well, you saw the news," how he'd gotten into that fight with Raphael. "People stopped coming to Bobby's shop because of me, and I wasn't going to get a job anywhere else. So," he shrugged, "I left."

"I'm so sorry Dean," Cas looked down at Dean's bare chest, his hands resting there. "This is all my fault."

"Stop being so guilty," Dean commanded good-naturedly. "It's not like you forced me to sleep with you or something." Well, he tried, but Dean could have said no if he'd really wanted to. "I'm an adult, I make my own decisions. And being with you was one of them. 'Nough said."

"Being with me…" Cas repeated thoughtfully – quietly. Their eyes met again. "I asked you to move in with me, didn't I?" He'd heard rumor of such. "What did you say when I asked you?"

"Ah, well," Dean scratched the back of his head. "I never gave you an answer." Another one of those curious head tilts. "That was just before everything kind of… got out of control. Right after, Michael showed up, and then I was… mad at you." More guilt entered that blue gaze. "Then of course Raphael happened and…" He shrugged.

"Why were you angry with me?" he asked quietly, the pointed sincerity in his eyes making it hard to reject answering. Yet Dean had only just pulled him out of a panic attack. He didn't want to induce another one.

"It doesn't matter Cas," Dean shook his head. "It's all over and done with."

"It was because of Michael, wasn't it?" he deduced. "I'd never told you about him…"

Dean's shoulders dropped. "Like I said Cas, it doesn't matter," he offered a small smile. "I don't see him around, so I'm assuming he's out of the picture now anyway. No use crying over spilled milk." Or something like that he figured.

"We broke up," Cas verified, his hand coming up to the bridge of his nose. "Again. He moved all his stuff out." And there he was, moving on to Dean already. Part of Cas felt bad about it.

"Yeah, well, he was a prick anyway," Dean commented sourly, Cas casting him a disapproving look. Really, other than hiding things near the end, he hadn't done anything wrong. Much like Dean hadn't. Cas supposed he was likely to blame for everything. "But… you do realize that… that I can't…" Dean took Cas's hands in his own. "I can't give you all the things he could. If you want to be with me anyway…"

"Give me things?" Cas asked curiously.

"I don't have a college degree Cas," he stared down at those beautifully crafted fingers, rubbing them between his own. "Any job I get here… It's not going to be like whatever it was Michael had. I can't pay for an apartment like this," he shook his head, "and I can't give you trips to Venice. Or let you retire so you can paint. I can't give you any of that." And it made his heart ache that he couldn't.

"Dean," Cas pulled his hand up, lifting Dean's chin so he could see those regretful green eyes. "Those things are nice, but I don't need them. And I can pay for the apartment – I did it before Michael lived here and I can do it again just fine. I don't want you to worry about that. If… if you are… willing to stay here. With me…" He flushed. "I know that maybe we haven't actually been together, well, at all, but… but I want you to stay…"

"Like, officially?" Dean tried not to cringe as he looked away again. "I was gonna stay for a little while Cas, but I can't… I can't live in a place I can't pay for. I won't just let you take me in like some kind of charity case." He supposed he could stay in the city, get his own place. But wasn't Chicago really expensive to live in?

"Dean, if you stay here, you're not going to pay me anything," Cas stated firmly. "You'll live here for free."

"Cas, I just said-"

"I'm going to be honest right now," he dictated firmly. "I'm not going to stay with someone who doesn't have any goals or aspirations." Dean furrowed his eyebrows at the tone of his voice. "You want to be with me, right?" Whether they were living together or not. "Then you need to go back to school. I don't care where or for what, and I'll pay for it," Dean's eyes widened, "but you're going back."

"You know, no offense," Dean tried not to sound too sharp, "but I think that's a decision  _I_  get to make,  _not_  you. And I'm  _not_  letting you pay for it." No way in hell was that happening.

"What are you going to do?" Cas asked bluntly, finding himself oddly angry. As if, perhaps, they'd discussed this before and his body was remembering that it hadn't ended well. "Get another job as an uneducated mechanic and make minimum wage the rest of your life? Now I'm not saying money is a big deal, but what's the point?"

"You're gettin' a little harsh Cas," Dean said through gritted teeth.

"No, I'm asking the questions you're too afraid to," the words spilled out of him without much in the way of forethought, Cas's tongue moving on without him. "Why won't you go back to school?"

"Why do I have to?"

"Because you shouldn't settle for less than what you can be," Cas replied, his tone a little louder. "I realize I'm not the painter I want to be, and that I chose security first," for the time being, "but at least I can look myself in the mirror and tell myself why. What about you? Why are you giving up?"

"I'm not giving up," Dean pushed away from him, turning and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Maybe I just don't  _want_  to go to school."

"Then what do you want?"

"I don't know!"

"Fine," Cas shook his head, scooting his body delicately to the end of the bed. Reaching down, he managed to grab his cane off the floor with only moderate pain to the rest of his body. Standing, he didn't even look back at Dean, who was watching him. "Come with me," he issued coldly, limping, still naked, from the room.

"Cas!" Dean called after, but got no response. Huffing, he stood and followed after, spotting Cas halfway to the front door of the apartment. Easily catching up, he was right behind him when they reached the entrance, Cas taking hold of the knob and pulling open the door. He then turned back to Dean.

"Leave," he issued shortly.

"What?" Dean asked shortly, surprised and confused.

"Get out," Cas stated sternly. "I don't need you here."

"Uh, yeah, about that-"

"You don't want my help? I don't need yours," he persisted. "And I'm not going to be in a relationship with someone who's too afraid to live their life." Not even Dean Winchester. "Where do you think I would be if I'd been afraid? I won't have that kind of poison around."

"I'm not afraid to live my life Cas," Dean replied angrily, hurt as well, and feeling almost betrayed. "Just because my idea of what I want isn't what you-"

"You don't know what you want," Cas accused. "Except maybe me. So here are your choices. You want to stay with me? Then you go back to school. You live here so you can focus on your education, and you let me pay for it."

"That's not fair Cas," Dean growled out though gritted teeth.

"Life's not fair," those blue eyes narrowed. "What'll it be?"

"What if I don't  _want_  to go back to school?" Dean snapped.

"Then  _what_  are you going to  _do_?" Cas asked again. "If you stand here and tell me, honestly, that being a minimum wage mechanic is what you want, then fine. I don't have a problem with that –  _if_ that's really what you want. If that makes you happy." Pause. "But I'm pretty sure it doesn't. Maybe I don't remember what happened between us, but I get the feeling that I'm right. So if that's not what you want, then what  _do_  you want?"

"Screw you Cas," Dean stated defensively.

" _What_  do you  _want_?!" Cas yelled at him abruptly, Dean staring at him in wide-eyed surprise. " _What_  are you so  _afraid_  of?!" He took a deep breath. "I know one thing you want," he continued. "And if you want to be with me, then I suggest you figure the rest out." He slammed the door closed again. "Because you don't have another choice." Cas stared him down for a moment longer, only satisfied when, clearly angry, Dean looked away. Jaw tense, Cas then turned and hobbled off, going to the kitchen for a glass of water. Because he still felt weak and hurt, and nearly everything – arguing included – exhausted him.

Dean, on the other hand, was caught between honest hurt – that Cas would so easily throw him out – and anger that he'd have the audacity to give him such an ultimatum. Yet probably what was most infuriating was the fact that despite how he wanted to turn back to Cas and rebuke and fight and struggle, no viable defense was coming to mind. Because Cas was right – he was afraid, and he wasn't happy. And it wasn't okay for him to allow his fear of… failure to dictate how his life went.

He didn't want to face the hard decisions, but it was either that or leave. And what? Go live with Sam, who'd likely give him the same speech? And get a cheap-ass apartment his whole life, and grow old with nothing to show for it all, like Cas had once said he was on the path to doing?

But what was worse, and made him feel lower than ever, was that fact that he knew Cas was only acting this way for his own good. He knew Cas loved him – guy had loved him since high school for crying out loud – and he'd only threaten such awful things if there was well-meaning behind doing so. Cas didn't want him to leave, and he was testing the potential between them to see if Dean would really man up and do what needed to be done.

Or run away.

But he couldn't run away. He couldn't leave Cas, not with the health he had. And besides, he didn't want to.

"Son of a bitch!" he swore, turning and heading across the apartment. He paused just outside the bedroom door to point an accusing finger at Cas, who was standing in the kitchen drinking a glass of water, staring at him. "I fucking hate you right now," he admitted quite honestly, meaning every word as he then whipped back around and stomped into the other room. He was about to gather up his clothes and leave, or go for a walk, or something, but when his eyes snapped to the window, he saw that not only was it dark, but it was snowing heavily.

He didn't know Chicago and not even he was stupid enough to get lost out in a blizzard.

Growling in frustration, he forgot his clothes and instead went to the bed. Yanking the comforter up, he then slammed himself down, pulling the blanket up to his chin before going on to glare at the wall on the other side of the room. To say he was pouting like a child was a bit of an understatement.

Cas didn't address the subject however. He let Dean sulk, knowing full well he'd frustrated him and deciding it was probably better to just let him be for the time being. He only went back to the bedroom to pull on a pair of sweats and a new tank top, having the decency to allow the door to nearly close behind him, leaving only a crack open.

His stomach growled as he went back to the kitchen, supposing it had been a while since he'd been calm enough to eat. Before he could even pull open the refrigerator however, there was a knock on his door. Turning, he was just in time to watch his mother poke her head in, spotting him before pushing herself the rest of the way. She had what smelled like Chinese, Cas's stomach speaking up again.

"Oh honey," Naomi started as she whisked her way toward him. "You look so much better." She set the food on the counter on her way by, her hands soon closing around his unshaved chin. "I'm so glad you're alright. And you haven't had an attack since Dean got here." Cas supposed it would do little good to tell her otherwise. He had no intention of broadcasting his issues to everyone. If Dean was going to be staying with him, then perhaps he was the only one that needed to know.

"I knew he'd be good for you," she continued, backing away a second later. She then looked around, her eyebrows furrowing. "Where is he?" Her gaze fell back to her son.

"In the bedroom," Cas replied in his typical flat fashion, supposing he should elaborate, if his mother's expectant expression said anything on the matter. "He's angry with me at the moment." Sidestepping around his mother, he went to investigate the food.

"Angry?" she questioned. "Why? What happened?"

"I told him that if he wanted to stay with me, he had to go back to school," Cas was pulling open the bag and bringing out one of the two styrofoam containers. "And now he's angry." He didn't see any harm in being honest with his mother. After all, it'd been a great many years since he'd had the luxury.

"Why would that make him angry?" she asked.

He didn't, however, want to give away Dean's secrets. "I think it may have been because I handled myself poorly on the subject," he lied, quite steadfast in believing he'd done exactly what had needed to be done. "He and I will speak on it again later." His mother was still eying him suspiciously, knowing full well he wasn't giving her the full truth, but supposed that perhaps what went on between her son and Dean wasn't exactly her business.

Having surveyed both containers of food, Cas took note that they were the same before picking one and, grabbing a pair of metal chopsticks from his silverware drawer, taking his food (he was assuming it was his) to the dining table near the window.

"You know," Naomi sat down across from him, the weather pounding the window behind, "I quite like Dean." She twined her fingers together atop the table, Cas glancing up at her as he pushed a piece of chicken between his lips. "Not to say I had a problem with Michael, but," she shrugged, "I think Dean is good for you. You're good for each other."

Cas nodded, seeing no reason to disagree. He could understand why his mother would think as much after all. Dean had shown up and suddenly his attacks had "stopped." Not even he could deny having Dean there had somehow eased his situation. It was comforting to him, having the other man present, and settled his mind. Like a missing puzzle piece had been put back into place. Much of his anxiety had started over him attempting to remember what had happened after all, thoughts spurred by Dean that ultimately led… elsewhere. But having Dean physically there gave him little reason to chase such elusive thoughts. And kept him further from others.

"If only your father could see it," Naomi continued, her tone somewhat sad as Cas flicked his gaze to look at her. He felt guilt tighten in his chest, especially at the way his mother sighed.

"I'm sorry that I've… messed up our family," he started quietly, Naomi cutting in before he could get much further.

"Don't say that," she reached out, her hand placed lightly on his arm. "God made you perfect just the way you are and you should have no reason to hide that. It's your father who's wrong." She smiled shortly. "I'm just glad that now you can be honest with me. And I can be part of your life again." Her hand retreated.

"Thank you Mother," he said quietly, not entirely sure how to respond. His mother knew him well however, and didn't press him for anything further. Which allowed Cas to retrace a previous subject. "So you… really do like Dean?" He eyed her questioningly as he continued to eat.

"He's a nice boy," she nodded. "A little rough around the edges, but so would we all be if we'd had to go through what he did." She narrowed her eyes curiously at him. "Why?"

"It's strange," he explained distantly. "I… I trust Dean, and I feel like I know him," or at least as well as he could have gotten to know him during the week they'd supposedly spent together, "but there isn't any clear… image in my head that tells me why." He rubbed his forehead. "It's all very confounding."

"Cas, honey," his mother took a deep breath. "I think you need to stop worrying so much about it." She could see as well as anyone that such was his biggest problem. "You and Dean will make up for what was lost in no time, I'm sure of that. Even if your memory doesn't come back, he's still here. Really, isn't that what matters?"

"Perhaps," he agreed stoically.

"You're off work for a little while yet," she tried to keep the mood upbeat. "And Dean is… He's staying here with you?" Cas nodded. "So just try focusing on appreciating that. There's no point in overthinking things and making it more complicated than it is."

"I've always been an over thinker," Cas muttered.

"I know," Naomi smiled. "Love can't be thought out though honey," she shrugged. "It comes up at the least expected times from the least expected places. Maybe it's hard for you to really see it now, but you mean a great deal to Dean. And isn't that the most important thing? That you both mean something to one another? What does it matter where that feeling comes from, or how it got there? It's a truth no matter how it's considered."

Cas stared down at his food, appreciating her simplified version of his cracked and disjointed life. In the same moment, they both heard the sound of the bedroom door gracing over the hardwood floor. Looking up, they saw Dean standing there in his t-shirt and jeans, it quickly occurring to Cas that he didn't have any other clothes.

But he must have brought more with him? Cas's clothes would likely be just a bit too small.

"Hello Dean," Naomi smiled sweetly at him.

"Mrs. Novak," he muttered, trying his best to quench his bad humor. He'd smelled food however, and little could keep him from that. Especially since he hadn't eaten since the night before.

Naomi could tell, however – by the way Dean and her son looked to one another – that there were words needing to be spoken between the two. Smiling still, she stood from the table, turning her attention back to her son.

"I'm going to head back to Anna's," she explained, Castiel seeming to glance up at her curiously. "I'm a little tired, and I only wanted to make sure you were eating." Leaning down, she ran her hand through her son's hair before laying a kiss into the disheveled locks.

"You're more than welcome to stay Mother," Cas offered obliviously. "The weather is questionable."

"No, I'd better go back," Naomi persisted. "Anna was going to bring back some movies to watch. And I don't want to leave her to watch them alone." Which was partially true. "You just make sure you get your rest," she turned to Dean. "And I expect you'll make sure he does."

"Sure thing," Dean's lips tightened into something that might have been smile if it weren't so incredibly forced.

"Alright," she started to make her way for the door. "The other Chinese on the counter is for you Dean," she said over her shoulder as she opened the front door. "I didn't know what you liked, so I just got you what I got Castiel." He didn't strike her as being the particularly picky type anyway.

He nodded his thanks, Naomi casting him one last smile as she headed out the door.

As soon as she was gone however, Dean's attitude dropped. Turning to the counter, he went for the food, saying nothing to Cas despite how the other man looked at him. As he opened the container however, he came to the conclusion that he was going to need some silverware, which he didn't know how to find.

"Where can I get a fork?" he asked shortly.

"First drawer there," Cas replied easily, pointing to the kitchen island with one of his chopsticks. Dean easily located the utensil, then forced to consider  _where_  he should eat. Not the bedroom – neither he nor Cas had been raised to do such a thing – but there was the couch. Despite what part of him wanted to avoid Cas however, a stronger, more logical part of him wanted to remedy the sourness between them. Or give Cas the chance to.

So, lips tight in irritation, he made his way over to the table, sitting down at the end. Cas sat to his left diagonally, still looking at him despite how Dean focused on the food. He hadn't really had much Chinese before – wasn't a takeout place in Burr. But it looked alright.

"Dean," Cas said a moment later. "Are you still… angry?" Obviously he was, but it was a direct way of addressing the subject, in any case.

"Yes," was the snapping reply he gave. Cas then turned his eyes to his food, his expression only somewhat uneasy as he poked at his rice. He wasn't sure what else to say, so it was probably good that Dean decided to continue. "I don't appreciate being blackmailed into  _anything_  Cas," he growled out. "Especially when it's over a  _relationship_  with someone."

"I understand," Cas nodded, his tone normal. "I apologize."

"It was a really shitty thing to do," Dean continued, finally pulling his head up to look at Cas, who did the same. He could tell by the way Cas blinked however that he didn't hold any guilt over what he'd done, so Dean was going to continue until he really did understand. "You can't just threaten our relationship," what little of one they had, "every time you want me to do something. It doesn't work that way."

"I understand Dean, I-"

"No, I don't think you do," Dean gestured to him rather rudely, Cas furrowing his eyebrows. "You can't abuse what we're doing to try and make me into something you want me to be." This comment did finally pull some expression from Cas. Confusion mostly. "I get why you want me to go back to school, okay? And you're right, I probably should, but it really fucking bothered me that you'd rather blackmail me into doing it than sit down and talk about it."

"You weren't exactly wanting to talk," Cas replied defensively.

"So you thought blackmailing me was the next best option?"

"I was frustrated Dean," he replied. "I didn't understand why you were so against going back to school. I still don't understand. Why would you choose to not go when I'm trying to help you? It's okay for you to just show up here, without me asking and without me even being able to remember why you would, and decide to stay until you're positive I'm better, but then I'm supposed to let you, what, leave and go back to a life I don't think you like very much? No, I'm not doing that." He shook his head, looking down at his food again. "You're being hypocritical."

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, his temper rising.

"You can help me but I'm not allowed to help you?" Cas turned his face up to look at him again. "If that's the way you want it Dean, then I stand by what I said before. You can leave." Dean's expression tightened. "I'm not trying to blackmail you. But I'm also not going to allow myself to take advantage of you."

"Advantage?" Dean questioned in surprise. "How are  _you_  taking advantage of  _me_?"

"Because I want you to stay here despite anything else you might want to do," Cas replied evenly. "You're giving up all your time and energy, and we've barely been together. If you're going to do that, then I  _will_  return the favor." He had his pride too after all. A pride that was currently severely damaged by his own inability to be productive at anything.

"Cas, I don't have anywhere else to go," Dean replied a little brokenly. "I don't think you understand, but… I'm homeless." He hadn't wanted to admit it out loud, but it was true. So true, in fact, that he could feel the emotion from the fact welling up in his throat. "I don't have anything," he continued. "Everything I own is out in my car."  _Everything_. Sure he had Sam, but… going to him wasn't any better than going to Cas. "Don't you get it? You don't owe me anything." Shaking his head, his hands came up to cover his face, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath, one he found came out a little shakier than he would have liked.

"You're not homeless," Cas murmured softly, reaching over to him and allowing his hand to rest on his arm. It didn't get much of a response out of the other man however, causing Cas to frown. Reaching up, he pulled lightly on the bottom of Dean's sleeve – not knowing why – but ending up somewhat relieved when those hands fell away to reveal defeated green eyes. "I'll never let you be homeless," his quiet assurances continued.

"I can't let you pay for my school Cas," Dean's voice was only just above a whisper. "Or anything else."

"Yes you can," Cas persisted, his hand once again falling to grip that muscular arm. "Let me help you Dean. Let me take care of you." Those green eyes snapped away, lips tightening as Dean continued to try and control his emotions. "You've been alone for the last ten years," or so he'd determined. "You dropped out of school to take care of your brother and it wasn't fair that you never let yourself go back. If you get your own place here, and get a job, and try to go to school… You're making it so difficult."

"I can't take that much from you Cas," Dean determined, trying valiantly to stand up for himself.

"It's not that much," Cas replied. "Money? That doesn't mean anything to me. Dean, please," he held that arm with both hands then. "Let me do this. You don't have to go back to working fulltime for… practically nothing. And I know you can't work part-time, go to school fulltime, and pay rent all at the same time." Not easily anyway, and not in Chicago. Unless he got a fulltime night job, which wasn't going to help his education any. "Don't you think you deserve better?"

"No Cas…" Dean shook his head. "Why do I deserve better?" His gaze twitched to the table. "And besides, what if you go to all that trouble and I…" His lids fell closed. "And I fail?"

"Why would you fail?"

"Because I haven't been back to school in ten years!" he said a little loudly, his eyes popping back open. "Because I know cars and that's the only thing I know! Cas, I don't even think I'm… smart enough to go to college anymore." It wasn't as if his brain just retained what he'd learned in high school during its disuse. That which wasn't practiced deteriorated.

"Of course you're smart enough," Cas determined firmly. "And if there are things you need help on, I'll hire you a tutor," which only made Dean's expression drop more. "I'm not trying to give you charity," he continued a little more softly. "But I'm not going to let you give up because you're afraid either. Let me make it as easy for you as possible. I'll support you the whole way." In more ways than one. "Please Dean. And if you're that upset about the money, pay me back after you graduate and get a job." Payments Cas wouldn't likely accept. Mostly because, as he considered the idea, it occurred to him that he and Dean would have been together at least four years if that were to happen, at which time Cas couldn't logically see money being a variable between them.

It made his stomach jolt in excitement despite the discussion, the idea of him and Dean still being together that far in the future. He wanted it that way, he realized. He'd dated plenty of guys before, some which had become serious and some which hadn't, but never had he imagined a relationship that far in the future. Even with Michael, who had asked that they get married – a question Cas had answered with a yes, but still been uncertain about. Yet with Dean he wanted it. Wanted it too badly for words.

"I'm going to have a job before I graduate," Dean assured sourly, his work ethic sneaking through. There was no way at  _all_  that he was going to mooch off of Cas  _and_  not have at least a small income. Whether Cas wanted him to have a job or not.

"Dean," Cas's blue eyes pleaded. "Please. Let me do this for you." He wanted to. He wanted to so badly.

"Cas…" Dean shook his head, a rebellious streak still tripping through him.

"That's what I want," he persisted. "More than Venice or painting or anything. I want  _you_ , and I want you to be  _happy_." Dean had some serious self-esteem to build. Though he put off a confident façade, it was clear he didn't see very much value in himself. Which was the exact opposite if what Cas saw. Dean was quickly beginning to become the most important thing in his life, no matter the short time they'd been together. And he didn't mean that in an obsessive, unhealthy way. Rather, he loved Dean, and that was important.

That meant something.

Dean was silent however, as if considering what he should say. Part of him, the part that was afraid, wanted to keep saying no. To reason that it wasn't a good idea to be so dependent on another person. But another part of him – the same part that let Cas have his way with him and that felt oddly comforted not being in charge – kept trying to break through. To reason that he was tired, and lonely, and that accepting what Cas was proposing, though perhaps unwise, was what he wanted to do.

Because he knew, if he got his own place in the city, and got a job, and tried to do it all on his own, he wouldn't be able to. He needed help, and support, yet it seemed so completely unreal that sitting right beside him was someone willing to go such a great distance. And without  _really_  asking for anything in return.

Except that Dean stay with him, which didn't seem like a fair exchange in the least.

He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, his skin seeming to prick with nerves. He even felt himself beginning to sweat as he finally turned his gaze to Cas's.

He sighed. "Alright Cas," he agreed tightly. "Okay…"

Cas's shoulders dropped in relief, a broad smile breaking across his face, which told Dean how enthused he truly was. Because when Cas smiled, it was important to take note.

"Thank you Dean," he said, leaning out of his chair and wrapping his arms around the other man's neck. He laid his lips passionately against the side of Dean's head, his heart pounding in excitement. "I'm so happy." His lips moved against that short hair, setting into another kiss as Dean's hand reached up to trail along his jaw.

Dean stiffened a second later however, turning to look at Cas as he reached up and pushed him away slightly.

"I'm not going to school until you're better," he made perfectly clear. "You can't be alone."

Cas's mood dropped just a little, his body sinking back down into his chair. "I know," he admitted a little unwillingly. "We can start getting you tested though," he tried to come back. "And if you have catching up to do, I can have a tutor come to the apartment." He was holding Dean's hand, even more determined to get well. Besides, there was also the fact that  _he_  had a job, all of these new plans dependent on that fact. And if he couldn't get through the day without a panic attack, that was a serious problem. He'd been given extended leave because of the accident, but they expected him back sooner more so than later.

Maybe he could start working from home…

"You're not going to relax about this, are you?" Dean asked a little flatly.

"Absolutely not," Cas said in all seriousness, Dean releasing another sigh.


	19. When You're Worthy

Dean was… slightly uncomfortable. It'd been a long time since he'd been inside the walls of a college, let alone one he was supposed to be soon attending. Already he felt old, the youthful faces of the teenagers scampering through the halls reminding him only further of how far behind he was. He did see a few his age or older however, though whether they were students or not he couldn't tell. Cas had assured him that he was likely to meet up with others in his similar situation in community college. When he transferred to university, it'd be different, but he'd be caught up enough by then that feeling secure would hardly be an issue, or so Cas had reasoned.

As it was, Dean was pushing Cas down a window-lined hall in his wheelchair (because there was no way he was going to let him limp around with his cane all the way), the two of them meeting with Dean's advisor so as to figure out when he should start, what he should take, and how he should do so. Cas was hoping that there was a semester's worth of online courses he could take. That way, he could probably enroll right then and be in time for the spring semester while also able to be at the apartment with Cas.

Dean was hoping that  _wasn't_  the case. He was, yes, trying to postpone the inevitable as long as possible.

"There, advising," Cas pointed to the sign hanging above their heads, Dean pursing his lips before pushing his ward through the sliding doors. It was a clean, strict place, chairs set up along the back of the open room and a desk on the other side, where a few receptionists were trapped inside. One of them looked up at their approach, and smiled encouragingly – as if Dean's nerves were that obvious.

"Good afternoon," she greeted, far too lively when considering it was only the first day the school was back in session after the break. Monday, January fifth. Somewhere along the way, both Christmas and New Years had passed them by, what with Cas being in the hospital and then recovering during that time. Already a new year was starting, Cas arguing that it was a good time for a fresh beginning.

"Uh, Dean Winchester," he said to her while Cas texted on his phone below. He'd started work again (his bosses had tried to give him more time off, but he'd refused), though he was doing so from home, and was often on his phone during working hours. Unless, of course, he was hurting or suffering one of his infamous panic attacks.

Dean liked to think he was getting better, but sometimes he wasn't so sure. It'd been less than a week since he'd "moved in," or whatever, but already Cas's disposition was proving to be inconsistent. Some days he was fine without any attacks, and others he woke up having one and then had a couple more afterwards. Or, like two days before, he suffered six, Dean's nerves quite on edge until they'd finally managed to get to sleep. He supposed he just had to give it more time however. For both their sakes.

"Right…" the woman was looking at the schedule on her computer. "You'll be seeing Kaitlin. I'll let her know you're here if you just want to take a seat." She gestured to the chairs. Nodding, Dean pushed Cas over to one of them before sitting down. Elbows on his knees, he ran his hands down his face nervously before twining his fingers together. Beside him, Cas looked up, furrowed his brows, and put his phone away. Reaching out, he set a comforting hand on Dean's arm, which he acknowledged with only a look.

Across the room, behind the desk, one of the receptionists had slid her chair over to speak with another. Though Dean and Cas were far from the only people waiting, they both sensed that the conversation was about them. In fact, they were drawing curious looks from all over the room. Cas didn't appear all that bothered by it, but Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck crawl.

"I really wish the news would stop talking about what happened," he muttered to Cas, who was still looking at him. "I feel like I can't go anywhere without people wondering if I'm the guy who was on the news." Because someone had gotten ahold of a picture of him (probably from the police due to the few times he'd been hauled in for bar brawling) and it'd been flashing alongside Cas's since Raphael had been brought into custody.

"But you are the guy who was on the news," Cas said.

"That's the whole problem," Dean growled, leaning back in his seat. It didn't help that both he and Cas were far from being healed. Though Cas looked worse, they both still shared in bruises and cuts upon their faces, which only made their identities that much more obvious.

"Um, excuse me." Twitching their heads around, both Dean and Cas spotted two young men and a young woman approaching them. They couldn't be much older than eighteen or nineteen, Cas turning his wheelchair slightly to face them better. "Are… are you Castiel Novak?" The wheelchair gave them away a bit too.

"I am," Cas answered honestly, not at all perturbed. Dean sighed silently, but supposed he should keep his cool.

"And you're Dean Winchester, right?" One of the young men, more flamboyant than the other, was speaking.

"Yup," Dean answered simply.

"I just… I thought I recognized you from the news," he smiled a little, everyone else in the waiting room quite obviously listening in. "I know that what happened to you," he was looking again to Castiel, "isn't… isn't good," Dean raised his eyebrows a little too mockingly, "but I just wanted you to know that, because of you, I decided to come out to my parents." Cas was cocking his head in that adorably curious way he did, waiting for further explanation. "I thought that… that if you were brave enough to be yourself in a town like that, then I could be too."

"Oh god," Dean deadpanned. "We've become gay mascots." His response drew the confused looks of the teenagers, as well as others in the room, Cas turning to him disapprovingly.

"Ignore Dean," he said a moment later, the teenagers looking once again to him instead. "He wakes up that way." This got a short laugh out of the young woman, Dean casting all of them a glare before propping his head in his hand, elbow on the armrest.

"It's okay," the apparently gay young man assured with an awkward smile. "I'm just glad you guys are together." This drew Dean's attention, his eyes flicking to the group again, finding it disturbing that they were now all looking at  _him_. "What you did was incredible, to catch the guy who… did it," Raphael. "It's really encouraging, that you two mean so much to each other." Dean deflated some, supposing even he knew when to take a compliment.

"We hope that asshole gets put away for a long time," the less feminine boy put in then. "He deserves the worst punishment."

"I appreciate you saying that," Cas nodded solemnly. "And I'm glad someone got something good out of what happened. If the least I can do is help someone else, then I'm glad." If Cas were the type to smile more often, he might have, but the teenagers would just have to be happy with the warmth of his expression. Because Dean certainly wasn't encouraging them.

"Also," the first boy cleared his throat awkwardly, a blush running up his face, "you're both really attractive."

Cas furrowed his eyebrows again, not sure what he was supposed to do with such a comment, and Dean, after taking the allotted amount of time to digest, finally cracked a grin before shortly laughing.

"Thanks kid," Dean winked, unable to help teasing. The boy blushed even more, his only saving grace being that a woman had just stepped out and called Dean's name. Cas waved goodbye for both of them as he wheeled away, Dean coming up behind him to push as they headed across the room.

"I'm Kaitlin," she held out her hand at two levels for both Dean and Cas to shake. "Pleasure to meet you," she smiled, stepping back to direct them down a hall on the other side of the door from which she'd come. "Right this way." Following her, Dean continued to push Cas at a slow pace, who still seemed to be muddling over the compliment from before.

Soon they were inside a small office, Dean placing himself in a chair after putting Cas beside it. The woman, Kaitlin, sat down behind the desk, turning to the computer as she began to type away. They remained in silence for a few moments as she pulled up the tests and forms Dean had done online the last few days. Surveying his information, she was soon turning back to him.

"So," she smiled again, "I'm not going to beat around the bush here." That was never a good way to start a conversation. "Dean," she could tell which one he was (probably thanks to the news), "your test scores aren't that great."

Well, he knew that. Didn't have to see the scores to know as much.

"However," she nodded once, "that doesn't mean we're not going to work with you. You'll have to start out on some introductory courses to get caught up. These won't count toward any degree, but they'll get you in line for the more advanced classes that do. Tell me, what are you hoping to pursue here?"

"Uh, well," Dean looked over at Cas, who merely glanced back and offered no words. So he focused back on Kaitlin. "I was thinking maybe law enforcement or… something," he shrugged, "but I think I just need to get my gen eds out of the way first. Before transferring…"

"So you're planning to transfer to a larger university?" she asked and he nodded. "Okay," she glanced again to her computer. "Well then I think you're headed in the right direction. You might have an extra semester on board just to catch up, but I don't think it's something to be too worried about." She was still looking at the computer. "It says here you attended a college in Kansas for… a few weeks?" She looked to him questioningly.

Dean sighed. "That was right after high school," he explained, thankful he'd gotten his drug possession charge expunged years ago. "I dropped out due to a family crisis and just… never went back." She was nodding.

"I was just asking so as to make sure there were no transferable credits, but if you never finished a semester," she shrugged. "I don't know if there are any positions left in the classes you need to take, but I don't think the professors will mind just one more addition to their lectures."

"Uh, about that," Dean cut in swiftly. "I actually need all online classes." He said it simply because, well, online classes hadn't really been a thing when he'd first attended college, but the way Cas had talked about it, taking such was easy. So he wasn't expecting the odd look the advisor gave him.

"The online classes usually fill up pretty fast," she mentioned slowly. "And those professors can be pretty particular about class size." Because the classes could get very large.

"If there aren't any available, I can wait until next semester," Dean replied easily, Cas looking over at him disapprovingly despite how they'd already discussed the matter. His reasoning pulled further confusion from the advisor, Cas finally deciding to cut in.

"Dean, if you have to come in for classes, my mother can stay with me," he issued quietly. "That's why she came up here in the first place." Which was kind of true, but also not. Yes, she came to take care of him, but not in the fashion Dean was. Not for the purpose of dealing with panic attacks.

"No," was all Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest resolutely. Kaitlin, who obviously heard every word, easily came to an understanding of what was going on.

"I'm sure though that if I email the instructors and explain the situation," which she was now gathering, "they'd be happy to let you in."

"Could you?" Cas asked. "It would make things a little easier on us at the moment. Of course he'll come in for real classes next semester," or so was the plan, "but at the moment…"

"Of course," Kaitlin smiled prettily, Dean wondering if, had he not been with Cas, he'd have tried to start something with her. Probably. "I'll put you in the classes now, so you can have access to all the online information. Classes started today, so I'd stop by the bookstore if you can and pick up what you need." She then proceeded to tell him what he had to take, which consisted of a basic writing class, beginning literature, algebra I, and one humanities that actually fell into the category of providing credit. They were able to leave soon after, Cas dictating that they do as advised and stop by the bookstore on their way out. They did, Dean aghast at the price of the books while Cas took it all in expected stride.

Soon they were back at the apartment, Cas thankful to be able to use his cane again. He hated being limited, but supposed he probably would have been pretty exhausted if he'd had to walk all over the campus. Dean sitting on the couch with the laptop and new schoolbooks, Cas left him, going to investigate the answering machine nearby, where the red flashing light drew his attention. Normally he used only his cell phone, unaware what the number even was for his apartment. But the landline had come with the package, as had the phone, so he'd let it be.

The only calls he ever got were sales calls, so he was half tempted to erase the message without playing it. The responsible side of him argued however and, waiting for the expected, he allowed it to roll.

"Hello," said the unexpectedly human voice through the speaker, "I'm, uh, not sure if this is the right number or not. My name's Carl Slowitz and I've been trying to get ahold of Castiel Novak for a little while now." Cas's head fell to the side, Dean glancing up to listen as well. "I work for 60 Minutes and we were wondering if we could maybe get in touch with Mr. Novak for an interview. So if he could call me back," he spouted off a number, "that would be wonderful. Thank you for your time."

The message ended.

"Wow…" Dean raised his eyebrows in impressed skepticism. "60 Minutes? Really?"

"I wasn't expecting that," Cas admitted, staring down at the answering machine thoughtfully. "That's a very important program."

"Uh, yeah," Dean agreed knowingly. "Which is all the more reason why you shouldn't do it." Cas turned to look at him questioningly, as if to ask "why not?" "Cas, c'mon," Dean shook his head. "You really think you could handle something like that? They're going to want to know all kinds of details. You have a hard enough time thinking with that broken melon."

"Yes, but…" his blue eyes turned to the floor, "if my speaking out about what happened could do some good…" He was thinking of the boy they'd encountered only earlier that day. "Then do I not have a responsibility to do so?"

"No, you don't," Dean answered well enough, not even looking up from the computer this time. "You may see it as awareness, but mostly it's just the media wanting to get more attention. The faster Raphael and his buddies are put through litigation, the faster this whole thing can be over with." And maybe he'll stop getting stares in public.

"I suppose you're right," Cas agreed. Reaching out, he went to delete the message, but before he could, he was caught off-guard yet again when his home phone rang. Apparently for the second time that day. Pausing for only a moment, he reached out to the outdated contraption, pulling it to his ear with a curious "Hello?"

"Hello!" was the perky man's voice on the other line. "I'm looking to speak with Castiel Novak?"

"This is," Cas replied, tone ever deep.

"Oh!" the caller sounded both surprised and pleased. "I'm glad I managed to get you. My name is Jared Ray and I'm calling in representation of The Ellen Show." Eyes narrowing, Cas considered this for a moment, not sure if he was really hearing what he thought he was hearing.

Pulling the phone down from his ear, he turned his curious look on Dean, who was already waiting for an explanation.

"It's The Ellen Show," he muttered, covering the lower end of the phone as he did.

"Ellen DeGeneres?" Dean asked skeptically, his eyes widening slightly. Not sure he believed it himself, Cas returned to the call, asking for verification, which he got, validating that Dean was correct. Having risen from his seat now, Dean stood at Cas's shoulder, listening intently to the call.

"We realize that what's happened to you is probably a sensitive subject," Jared continued, "and, really, the gravity of your story isn't something Ellen would normally feature. But it's not every day that we get a specific request from Ellen herself on a guest, but she's been following your story," as had most of the country, "and says she'd like to have you on the show."

"Uh…" Cas didn't know what he was supposed to say.

"As you can well imagine," Jared persisted, "your situation is of personal significance to Ellen. She'd like you to come on the show for a special half hour interview, if that's possible." Was half an hour really significant? Cas didn't exactly make a habit of watching much television. "We will of course make all accommodations for you if you agree – meaning we'll pay for your plane ticket, your meals, and your hotel."

Cas looked to Dean, as if to ask what he should do. Dean had pursed his lips however, a look of hesitant disapproval in his eyes. He was, after all, worried. The last thing they needed was Cas having a panic attack on national television.

"Is there a chance I can get a number to call you back?" Cas asked a second later.

"Certainly!" Jared replied, Cas locating a pen and paper before writing down the number relayed to him. "We hope to hear from you soon!" The call ended well enough, Cas hanging the phone back up with a look of deep contemplation on his face. Dean, however, was becoming less and less enthused with the whole thing by the second.

"Ellen DeGeneres? Really?" He shook his head. "Who's next? Oprah?" Rolling his eyes, he stalked back to the couch, Cas then staring down at the number he'd taken. "Why are they callin' all of a sudden? Must have gotten your number somehow and now it's spreading everywhere."

"Dean," Cas hadn't exactly been listening to him. "I think, maybe, I should do this."

"I'm tellin' you, that's not a good idea," Dean continued to claim. "The case with Raphael hasn't even been settled yet. It's bad enough we're probably going to have to go back to Kansas to deal with that. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

"But Dean," Cas had come over and placed himself on the couch beside him. "What if me saying something can help make it so this doesn't happen to other people? What if I can help people by being open about it?"

"Cas, that's not your responsibility," Dean replied, more worried about Cas's health than anything else.

"But it is," he disagreed, Dean furrowing his eyebrows in displeasure. "You haven't been out very long, Dean, you don't know what it's like for us." The LGBTQ community. "If I can do something, then I should."

"Your suffering shouldn't be made into a poster child for gay people, Cas," Dean said simply. "How are you supposed to be able to help anyone else if you can't even help yourself?" Harsh maybe, but true. Besides, if Cas started going around the country doing interviews (or maybe just New York), then Dean would have to go with him. He'd only just gotten to Chicago, and had only had a few days to himself with Cas. Was it so much to ask that they just be left alone? "You can't even remember what happened anyway." Not that he wanted him to.

"There are still people out there dealing with this kind of thing," Cas continued his case. "I got out of Burr," only to come back and pay the consequences, "but what about other people who don't know what to do? Who are unsafe? And Dean… if what happened to me can inspire other members of the gay community, then what Raphael did can inspire others like  _him_  too."

Dean sighed. "You really want to do this, don't you?" He asked, shoulders dropping. He didn't need affirmation from Cas to know the truth however. "Just let me talk to Sammy first. He knows the law and I don't know how this stuff works with the case going on too. Alright?"

"Okay," Cas nodded, once again looking down at the number in his hand.

"Hey," Dean reached out, running the backs of his knuckles along Cas's jaw, which was finally clean-shaven. "Don't stress."

"I'm trying not to."

"You're thinking too hard," Dean determined. "And I'm not saying stop thinking, but I know you're thinking about things you shouldn't be." He could see it in the contemplative look on his face. Reaching out, he took the piece of paper with the number from his hands before setting it on the coffee table. Cas was watching him as he did, and so was ready when Dean then leaned in and kissed him. The contact was short, but deep, Cas poked with slight disappointment when Dean pulled away and looked back at the laptop.

Blue eyes flicking to his hands, Cas fiddled slightly with the cast on his wrist, trying to do as Dean said and not stress. So he was being asked to do some interviews, that didn't mean he had to make a decision right then. He had time, he could think about it.

There was no rush.

Forcefully taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to Dean again. The laptop was sitting on the coffee table, Dean's concentration etched into his face as he stared down at it. That profile, which was equally as soft as it was masculine. It wasn't sharp, not like Cas's (because he'd done enough self-portraits to know the difference), but firm. Sculpted. There was something about it he couldn't explain, had never been able to. The curves and the way his lips seemed to sit so perfectly below his nose. An easiness sat with him, which was very different from Michael – who'd always reminded him of those stiff, heavy, ancient sculptures. Dean wasn't stone, not like that. He was…

Cas just couldn't figure it out. Instead, eyebrows furrowing together, he reached out, his fingers trailing lightly along Dean's cheekbone, which caused the other man to look over in surprise.

"What?" he asked quickly, his own curiosity coming through as Cas's hand slowly fell back down.

"You know what really relieves my stress?" Cas asked, totally serious, and Dean cocked a single brow.

"Sex?" Snarky as ever.

"Well, yes," Cas nodded, supposing that was true. "But that's not what I was referring to." Dean waited for him to elaborate. "Painting," he finally admitted.

"So, go paint," Dean replied, not about to try and stop him from doing that. He knew the room upstairs was Cas's studio, though he hadn't yet been invited up there. And he wasn't going to simply invite himself. Artists were particular about that sort of stuff, or so he assumed, and he didn't want to upset the "vibes," or whatever.

"Did you know that, back in high school, I used to draw you?" he asked, continuing on with the subject. "Did I ever tell you that?"

"Ah, yes," Dean nodded. "I mean, I saw that one painting you did of me before coming to Burr," the one Cas had seen earlier that very day and been shocked himself, supposing he must have done it during the time period he'd forgotten. Dean had explained to him what he'd known of it, and that both of them found it odd that he'd done it at all. "That's all you showed me though."

"I had dozens of sketches of you," he admitted. "Maybe it was a little… weird, but you inspired me. And I don't really see anything wrong with that."

"I guess not…" Dean narrowed his eyes in further interest. "You once mentioned someone having to sit for you though. Did you draw me during class or something?" But he felt like he'd remember if someone had been doing so. Wasn't exactly something one would hide in a high school classroom.

"No," Cas shook his head. "For some reason, you were always the only person I could draw without having to have sitting directly in front of me," which would explain part of the painting. "Like I'd just… memorized your features."

"I  _am_  pretty adorable," Dean admitted with a grin, but the seriousness to Cas's mood didn't alter, which caused his expression to falter.

"Would you do it, Dean?" he asked then, the other not understanding his meaning. "Would you sit for me?"

"Well, sure… I guess…" Dean shrugged, unaware of how much his answer meant to Cas. Despite his ability to draw (or paint) Dean without him actually being there, he'd always wanted the other man there, before him, in the flesh. Like the sex, and everything else, it was one of those things he'd been positive would never happen. But it rang inside him a different note. Because art was what he did, what he was. It pulled emotions out of him that nothing else could. To draw Dean from observation, to actually have him there–

It made his whole chest swell, his throat becoming dry. He had to do it. He had to.

Reaching out, he took Dean's hand before carefully allowing himself to stand, his cane in his other hand.

"Wait, right now?" Dean asked in surprise when Cas began to pull him up. He got a nod in response, his expression somewhat confused as he also got to his feet. He didn't object however, instead allowing himself to be led across the apartment to the spiral staircase leading into the upper room. Limping all the way, Cas headed up, Dean staying close behind just in case he lost his balance. Cas made it successfully all the way up however, pushing his way through the small opening by the wall. He then flicked on the light, Dean glancing around with wide eyes to every inch of the room.

The floors were hardwood and spotted as well as smeared with different colors of paint. A large, multiple-paned window took up a generous amount of one wall. He saw the Forget Me Nots sitting there, the snowy afternoon falling on the other side of the glass. There were tables and chairs spotted about, a jumble of multiple sized canvases leaning lazily to the right. A few sat around with half ideas on them, Dean paying these each a little extra attention. Cabinets and different kinds of storage furniture sat to the wall opposite the window – as if Cas had simply seen each one, been inspired by it, and brought it home to add to the plethora of others. They all fit and seemed equally unwelcome at the same time. Much like the different images and pictures pinned all over any empty space. Cas's inspiration perhaps.

Nearer the middle of the room was a large easel with a sketchpad propped up on it, a table sitting down below that was scattered with supplies that Dean couldn't even begin to label. There were more supplies to the left, drawers in some of the cabinets pulled out half-hazardly to reveal them. It was all very busy, and frantic, yet he sensed a kind of knowing organization in it all. As if he were looking in on a representation of Cas's mind.

Maybe that's exactly what it was.

There was one thing, however – above all else – that caught his attention. Set up in the corner, sunlight from the high windows cascading down upon it, was an intricately designed, shining, restored, mahogany grand piano. Blinking, Dean allowed his feet to carry him across the room toward it, taking in the elaborate grace of the carved patterns, and the stark reflection in which the ivory keys were shown upon the backboard.

"Hey," he pulled the other man's attention from whatever he'd been doing. "Do you play?" Cas finally looked back, standing with his cane before one of the wardrobes on the other side of the room.

"I don't," he admitted weakly. "I just… like it is all." Dean had glanced back to the instrument, eyes scouring it intently. He was almost disappointed that Cas didn't play, but supposed there was nothing to do about it. "Why?" Cas added. "Do you?"

"What?  _No_ ," Dean shook his head, sitting down on the bench before the piano in the same instant. "My mother did, and she tried to give me lessons, but I never really took to reading music." He'd reached up, fingering the low keys slowly, the dark sound echoing around the studio. "I knew basic stuff like chopsticks," he brought his other hand up, gradually going up and down the keys, messing up a few times as he did, "but not anything more than that." He then indulged in what Cas assumed were multiple cords, ones he audibly didn't get right the first few times either.

Lips tightening, Cas tried to think of something to say, aware of the distance in Dean's voice. He knew Dean's parents had died in a car accident, one of the many details he'd no doubt forgotten before having to be retold again. And he had the feeling Dean's reserved speech stemmed from that. From opportunities he wished he'd taken advantage of while his mother had still been alive.

Supposing that there was probably nothing he really  _could_  say, Cas set his attention on getting his own supplies together, Dean ponking at the keys behind him. He could hear as he began to earn back whatever little experience he'd had, playing a few familiar sequences that always ended short of what they really were. Choppy, really, until they started to become nothing. Until it was just Dean messing around with the keys, with chords and sound.

Messing around until, Cas's ears pricking, he realized he wasn't.

Dark eyebrows furrowing, Cas paused in picking up a few of his paintbrushes, not sure how he should respond to what was being heard. It wasn't anything overtly magnificent, but it was coming together as something tangible. Something with direction. Like Dean's fingers had only needed a warm up and were now building themselves into something concrete.

Turning, still leaning heavily on his cane, Cas continued to listen. Listen as the wrong notes and chords were slowly weeded out, Dean hunching forward some over the keyboard. As if listening more intently and correcting his errors as his fingers discovered them – able to hear things that Cas wouldn't ever be able to comprehend. A certain amount of muscle memory, maybe, that had to be re-adjusted after years without practice. But like dust being swept away, or a dog shaking grime from its coat, it took only a few up and downs across the keys for things – whatever things Dean had – to be broken back in.

It started out slow, dark even, on the lower register. His fingers wove a repetitive back and forth, speeding up gradually until the tempo was far quicker – until he flurried over the notes like it'd simply been a matter of course. And then his other hand fell into tandem, flitting across the keys in a way that pieced perfectly with what he'd already been doing. Like a pretty introduction, Cas blinking as he hobbled his way a little closer, unsure what to think or even how to process what he was hearing.

It wasn't perfect, and he slowed and was caught occasionally, but the longer he played, the better it got. And then, after the light flittering had reached its climax, he hammered out a few harsh cords, fingers dancing along beneath, the echoing of the piece – because that was what Cas was beginning to believe it was – bouncing from wall to wall as Dean simply played.

Now, Cas was no music coinsurer. Certainly he enjoyed it, and he'd been to enough concerts to know when something was generally considered good or bad. But he was positive what he was hearing coming from that old piano was something special. That not just anyone could pull that kind of music – that kind of arrangement – out of nothing.

So sure, in fact, that as Dean continued to play, he retrieved his phone and silently called Anna. She was a professional violinist in one of the cities top orchestras, and if anyone would know, she would.

"Cas? Is everything okay?" she asked almost immediately, but he didn't bother with a response to such.

"Listen to this," he whispered, so as to make sure Dean didn't hear. He was positive that, even with the phone held to his ear, Anna could make out the music clearly, her silence seeming to verify as much. Dean stumble a moment on the keys then, but after a pause picked it back up. Rather, he picked up something new. Something both Cas and Anna registered was being played in a different key.

He's said he couldn't read music. Was he even aware of what he was doing? What his ears were telling him to do?

"Who is that playing?" Anna finally managed to mutter out.

"Dean…"

"I didn't know he could play."

"He says he can't…"

Pause, Dean's head bowing lower as he continued with whatever strain of thought, whatever passion, was spurring these notes to come out at the tips of his fingers.

"What… what is he playing?"

"Nothing," Cas was shaking his head even though she couldn't see it. "I… I think he's making it up as he goes…"

" _What_?" he could hear the tightness in her flattened voice, how her words came out from between clenched teeth. In the same moment, Dean's harsh, heart-pounding, elevated playing came to only a short rest before, with an entirely different intent, it transformed into something soft. And sad. But beautiful, Cas's whole body seeming to suffer a kind of whiplash as it hit him.

Anna too, her breath catching over the phone.

"Cas, I need you to record this," she finally managed to get out.

"What?"

"Record what he's doing!" she practically shouted. "I need to make a few phone calls. When you have the recording, send it to me, understand?" Cas verified that he did. "I'm serious, Cas,  _record him_." That was the last thing she said before she hung up, Cas fumbling with his phone as he searched for the right app to accomplish what she'd demanded – and before Dean stopped playing. He thought, for a moment upon finally getting his phone to capture the moment, that Dean had stopped. That he'd soon be turning around to ask what was happening. But his hands merely stayed momentarily in the air above the keys – shaking slightly as he considered – before he started playing again, once more in an entirely different key and attitude. Like it just flowed out of him, these aggressive, pressured, momentum charged notes that simply lived off the ends of his fingers, spilling out a story that Cas was having a hard time keeping up with, his mouth hanging open as he listened.

As it rushed on through an introduction, crescendoing into something bigger, greater, and beyond Cas's grasp.

He recorded it all, as much as he could, until he feared that, should Dean turn around, he'd stop him. Whatever it was Anna was doing, he had to have enough. He sent it to her, and just in time. As if falling short, or perhaps simply lacking the tools to continue, Dean stopped, the notes tinkling off before he released a rather lackluster sigh.

Finally, he turned to Cas.

Who was still gaping, phone held tightly in his hands.

"What?" Dean smiled somewhat crookedly, clearly clueless. "I thought you were getting set up to draw me or something." He'd glanced around, apparently thinking the room should have been altered in some way.

"You said you didn't play," Cas finally managed to sputter out.

"I… I don't," Dean furrowed his brows, looking only quickly back to the piano before focusing again on Cas. "That was just… I was just messing around."

Cas couldn't stop the way his eyes bulged, lips finally clamping closed as he considered the best way to go about addressing this situation.

"Dean…" he licked his lips before hobbling his way over to the piano bench and gingerly placing himself down beside the other man. "Do you not understand what you just did?" Obviously he didn't, but Cas wanted to be absolutely clear. And the defensively curious look overcoming Dean's expression seemed to answer his question. "How did you do that?" Cas asked, pointing to the piano. "How'd you know what notes to play?"

"I didn't…" Dean shook his head. "I don't know." He looked back to the piano, staring at it almost accusingly, before placing a single finger against one of the keys. A clear ringing bounced around the room. "I mean, each key makes a different sound," he tried to explain, "and some of those sounds are better… together…" he shrugged, at the same time bringing up another finger and playing what Cas could only assume was a cord. "I mean, I just play the ones together that I think sound okay." He glanced back at Cas, green eyes uncertain. Uncertainty that was quickly clouded over by a defensive shield. "But that's just basic piano stuff… probably…"

"That's not all you were doing," Cas continued. "I mean, even if…" he took a deep breath, trying to gather himself after what Dean had just said. "Even if you can just… tell which ones sound… right… your fingers were moving really fast."

"Oh," Dean shrugged, cracking another one of those oblivious smiles while fingering a few of the keys again. "That's just because I used to mess around on my mom's piano." Cas waited for further explanation. "I used to get home earlier than everyone else, back when I was in high school and middle school. So I'd just… have my headphones on and play along to the songs I was listening to. I wasn't any good, obviously," he laughed awkwardly, "but that's just, like, muscle memory. Like how I can change the oil in a car or a flat tire. It's not like I'm playing anything right or something."

Cas was holding himself back. It was so hard, but he knew that if he came on too strong, he'd likely get a negative reaction from Dean. He had to stay calm and work this whole thing out.

"Dean, if you liked playing piano, why didn't you actually learn how to do it?"

He shrugged again. "My mom tried to teach me, but I'm no good at learning music. Besides, my dad was always going on about how boys should be 'playing football,' not playing music." And if Cas remembered correctly, there school hadn't had a band program. They'd gone to a small-town public school after all. Little budget, even fewer resources. Had it not been for Cas's predisposition for art, he'd have never been introduced to it in school. Not seriously.

Like Dean, who should have been in some kind of music program, but had instead slipped through the cracks.

"Dean, I don't think…" Cas sighed, closing his eyes only quickly as he gulped. "I don't think you understand what you just did."

"Cas," Dean was clearly skeptical. "It's not that hard. I mean, all I know is the sound each key makes. I'm sure this is basic stuff for piano players."

Cas wanted to say so much. He wanted to tell Dean exactly what he was, what he'd done, but something tight and wrenching in his chest was stopping him. Because if he said too much, Dean would never believe him – he'd push it all away and turn his back. Because Dean's self-esteem, what little he'd apparently  _ever_  had, was completely and utterly devastated. And someone that low, as Cas was truly realizing in that single moment Dean was, would never believe someone telling them they were a prodigy.

Because, holy shit, Dean was a fucking musical genius.

Hands coming up into fists, Cas struggled with what he should do, his whole body tight, and only managed to get out a retrained, hissing, "Oh my God, Dean."

" _What_?"

The sound of a phone vibrating jolted them both out of the conversation. Reaching into his pocket, Dean glanced down at his own, Cas rubbing his temples as he stared, wide-eyed, across the room.

"It's Sam," Dean explained rather nonchalantly, rising to his feet ad if it were obvious he needed to take the call. He walked across the studio, leaving Cas to stew in his newfound revelation. He was still quite at a loss for what to do about it, his head buzzing with the possibilities. Did Dean like playing piano? Was it something he'd want to pursue? And if so, holy crap, Cas would get someone to come in and teach him how to read music pronto, or whatever else needed to be learned. Screw law enforcement, he was quickly becoming convinced that this was what Dean needed to go to school for.

It was just that growing up in Burr, Kansas never would have provided the right opportunities to do so. Not if Dean hadn't gone looking for it himself, which he clearly hadn't. Or hadn't thought he could.

Jolted again from his reflections, Cas glanced down at his own phone, which he'd placed in his lap, to see he had an incoming call of his own. Dean had retreated back downstairs, so Cas quickly answered, still keeping his voice low as he greeted Anna.

"I got the video and sent it over to one of my conductors," she explained quickly. "He used to teach at Julliard, and he-"

"You did  _what_?" Cas hissed, not expecting that she'd take such action.

"What did you think I was going to do?!" she rebuked fiercely. "You saw what he was doing!"

"I know!" Cas stood, using his cane for leverage. "But I didn't think you were going to broadcast it to everyone. Dean doesn't even realize what he can do. Do you know how long it's going to take for me to even convince him?!"

"What do you mean 'convince' him? Just show him the video! Christ, what do you mean he doesn't 'realize?' How do you not know?!"

"You don't…" Cas sighed. "You don't understand. Where we grew up, and how he's had to live…"

"Well he'd best 'realize' it," Anna said firmly. "I told Richard that he's some country bumpkin that can't read music, that he was making it up, and he wants to meet him. Like, pronto. Tonight." Cas blinked, unsure what to say. "He's only in town for a few months and after he saw what Dean was doing, he wants to speak with him. That's no light compliment!"

"Dean isn't ready for that."

"Well get him ready because I'm already headed over and I'm meeting Richard outside your apartment, so…" Cas could practically see her shrugging.

"Anna!"

"See you in a little while!"

She hung up.

"Seriously?" Cas pulled his phone back, staring down at it critically. And had he not then been assaulted by the voice downstairs, he might have called her back in a fighting attempt to halt this disaster before it started. But, be it unfortunate or not, Dean's shouting pulled him from the studio, his brow furrowed as he hobbled carefully down the stairs.

"There has to be something we can do!" Dean was saying, Cas watching as he paced back and forth from the living area to the kitchen, his phone still glued to his ear. Cas was also surprised to note that his mother was there, sitting on the couch with a worried look on her face.

Cas limped his way over to her. "What's going on?"

"That's bullshit!" Dean was saying, Naomi glancing up at Cas as he sat down beside her. "They can't just let him go! I don't care on what terms! That shouldn't be allowed!"

"It's Raphael," Naomi murmured softly, her own cheeks of a paler hue. "He got out on bail."

This news didn't initially hit Cas. Rather, he didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know enough about the law to understand how he should be reacting. He knew that bail was a thing, and that it could be used to get out of jail prior to a trial, but he could also only assume that there was more to it than that.

More rules, more regulations, something.

"Someone like him shouldn't have even been allowed bail!" Dean's voice was still raised, his bare feet finally coming to a pause halfway between the couches and the kitchen. "There has to be something we can do, Sam!" Whatever answer he got following wasn't satisfactory, that fact written quite clearly all over his face. He sighed then too, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose – a habit Cas was realizing he displayed when under duress. "Alright… Yes! Okay… Fine… Yeah, I'll talk to you later."

He hung up shortly after.

"This is total bullshit," he said as soon as he met Cas's stare, the worry in his eyes not hidden quickly enough for Cas to miss. "If this was any other situation, there's no way the judge would have set bail. It's those motherfuckin' homophobic assholes!" he pointed fiercely to the side, as if that were the direction of Burr, Kansas. "Raphael is too dangerous to let out, but they don't give a shit about that!"

"Dean," Cas stood, forgetting his cane as he limped forward. "Dean, it's alright."

"No, it's not," his lips were quivering. Because he was upset, yes, but the angry kind of upset. "He almost  _killed_  you. That was attempted murder and if they were looking at it that way, he wouldn't have been set at a bail that someone could pay!" Cas pursed his lips. "And the only reason bail was set at all is…" He shook his head, gaze falling to the side as he closed his eyes. As if he were in pain. "Sam said that Raphael's father got him one of the best lawyers in the state. That a lot of the blame doesn't look like it's falling on him." Because there were four others involved too. "But he's the one that was behind it."

"I know," Cas nodded, reaching up to rest his hand on Dean's chest. "He'll get what he deserves. Bail doesn't mean he was let go. The whole country knows about this. There's nowhere he can run."

"And until then he can just do whatever the hell he wants?!"

"I doubt it works that way…"

"It doesn't matter how it works," Dean said almost brokenly. "I know him, Cas." His voice had fallen lower, a frustrated breath leaving his lips. "He's dangerous. And he shouldn't be allowed out of a jail cell." Though Cas couldn't know, Dean kept remembering the Whitherpool house. To finding his limp, lifeless body there. Hidden under piles of blankets. Like he was trash, or something less than human.

It was disgusting, and it took all the control he had not to kill Raphael himself for it.

"It doesn't matter," Cas tried to soothe, both hands on Dean's chest now. "He can't get us here. We're not in Burr anymore. And we're never going to have to go back there again. We're safe, Dean." He tried to offer up a positive smile. "I'm safe."

Maybe that was true, but he was also broken. Both physically and mentally. And there was no guarantee that he'd ever fully recover from either. More than anything, Dean wished they hadn't argued that day. That after Cas's father had kicked him out, Dean had been waiting in the driveway. He knew it was pointless to consider such variables, that there were so many ways things could have gone wrong or right. But still, it haunted him. The what ifs. And the things still to come.

He just wanted it over. That him and Cas could move on and not have to think about it anymore.

Reaching out, Dean gathered Cas into his arms, pulling him close until he had him completely wrapped up. Cas's nose was brushed up against Dean's neck, whose chin was in that inky hair. Hair that Dean's fingers sifted through, his other hand cradling Cas's back. It took a moment, but soon enough Cas had pulled his own arms around Dean, returning the embrace before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Dean wasn't nearly quite so at ease with it however. Rather, his jaw was tight, his gaze meeting Naomi's, equal amounts of reserved concern between them.

Cas was in bad enough shape as it was – why did this have to be added to it?

"Dean?" Cas's deep voice pushed hot air against his neck. "There's something I need to tell you." Pause. "Anna's coming over." An odd announcement to single out, mostly because Cas's friends tended to stop by without invitation most of the time anyway. "And she's bringing someone with her."

By this time, Cas was pulling back, a look of flinched resistance on is face.

"Okay…" Dean had narrowed his own stare, unsure how he was supposed to be reacting.

"I know his name is Richard. And he's…" Cas sighed. "Anna's a professional violinist," which Dean knew, "and I… I sent her a video of… of you playing… earlier."

"What?" Dean's eyes widened then.

"Playing?" Naomi had cocked her head to the side curiously, much in the same way her son was prone to doing.

"I just wasn't sure what to make of your playing, so I called her and she listened," Dean's lips had pursed, his arms falling away from Cas as he took a step back. "She told me to record it and send some to her, which- which I did. I wasn't expecting that she'd send it to someone else."

"Sent it to someone else?" Dean was clearly mortified, which Cas could understand. This wasn't how he'd wanted to go about this either. "Who? And why? Cas, why would you send anything to her in the first place?"

"I didn't know what she was going to do with it," Cas persisted, already beginning to see the situation unraveling. "I just heard you playing and wanted to make sure I was hearing it right, so I called her. And I guess she sent what I recorded to a conductor of hers, who wants to meet you."

"M-meet me?" Dean had backed up another pace, face pale. "Why would anyone want to meet me?" His speech as tight, lips rigid. "Cas, I thought I could trust you with what I told you earlier. So why the hell would you send anything to anyone? And why does anyone want to meet me about it?"

"Dean…" Cas tried to ease his way back in, "you're not giving yourself enough credit."

"Enough credit? For what? What I was doing up there was nothing, Cas," he pointed up to the studio. "I don't know what you or Anna or anyone else thought I was doing, but you're all going to be sorely disappointed because… I can't fuckin' play piano."

"Dean, that's not true," Cas continued, Naomi finally beginning to catch on to what was happening. "You don't realize how incredible what you were doing actually was. Being able to just… play by ear like that? Most musicians go their whole lives wishing they could do what you can."

"I'm not doing this," Dean was already shaking his head, hell-bent on not hearing a word that was being said. Except maybe those of the insecure voices in his head. "You crossed the line."

"Dean!" Cas's deep voice went lower, fiercer, as he watched Dean turn to retreat farther back into the apartment. "Don't run away from this!"

"I'm not running!" Dean whipped back around, Naomi somewhat taken aback by the venom in both their voices. "You shouldn't have been record-"

A loud rapping on the front door stopped their argument dead, the heat still fizzling between them. Cas was warning Dean to stay, silently, their eyes caught in tandem. But Dean was shaking his head, turning away again, and Cas sighed as he disappeared into the bedroom – apparently of the opinion that Cas had started this, so he could deal with it.

Turning a little faster than he probably should have, Cas limped his way over to the door, his mother holding his cane out to him and pursing her lips when he didn't come by to get it. Instead, he pulled his front door open, the three persons waiting beyond looking up at him as he did.

Cas did make sure to throw Anna a rather scathing look.

She cleared her throat. "This is Richard Cain," she gestured to the older man standing behind her, his sharp face serious. He had a mane of silver hair and a well-shaped beard, a fully stretched mustache completing the look. "And his teaching assistant, Charlie Bradbury." Another redhead, younger than Anna however, with short, cropped hair and a friendly face.

"Please, come in," Cas said tightly, ignoring the curious look he was getting from "Charlie." She probably recognized him – anyone up on current events probably would by that point.

"The boy, Dean Winchester," Richard's deep voice reverberated around the apartment in a dark, grizzly way, unlike the scraping of Cas's own. "Where is he?" Right to the point, Cas biting the inside of his cheek as he considered what to say. But, he supposed – as this was Anna's fault in the first place – all he could really do was be honest.

"He doesn't want to see you," Cas said tightly, finally taking his cane as his mother came up beside him and practically forced it into his hands. His explanation caused both Anna and Charlie visible discomfort, Richard's left eyebrow rising just slightly. "So I suppose I'm sorry for inconveniencing you."

"You suppose?" Richard repeated, Anna's eyes narrowing threateningly as she glanced around the apartment, as if trying to pinpoint Dean's location. "I didn't take time out of my day to be told 'I suppose.'" Cas wasn't fazed by his look however, only able to offer an exasperated shrug. One that made it quite clear that, though he was delivering the message, he didn't agree with its contents.

"I'll get him," Anna mumbled out, supposing that since the doors to Cas's studio and bathroom were both open, there were only two other places Dean could be. Either the bedroom or the spare, and seeing as Cas used the latter for storage, that left only one other option. Unless he'd left, but she had the feeling Cas would have said as much if he had.

Hunkering across the apartment, she shoved her way into Cas's bedroom, the other four left to stand and wait.

They didn't have to wait long. Neither Anna nor Dean were exactly the quiet types after all.

"You get out there right now!"

"Agh! Anna! What the-"

"You-re-be-ing-a-ba-by!"

"Stop- Stop hitting me!"

"Get out!"

"Hey! What are you-"

"Out! Out! Out!"

"Stop!"

"Yougetoutthererightnow!"

"Fuck! Stop! I'm- okay! Jesus!"

" _Out_!"

Dean stumbled out a moment later, hair far more disheveled and his shirt riding up his back as he did. He glanced back to the bedroom almost immediately, Anna standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. Dean was growling, looking about to bark something at her, but his attention fell instead to the group watching him.

Straightening quickly, he smoothed out his shirt. The defensiveness never left his expression however, Cas making no efforts to intervene.

"Good evening, Dean," Richard nodded once, tone cold. "My name is Richard Cain. I've come to speak with you." Dean didn't give an initial response, looking almost as though he might get nasty, and Cas eyed him sternly, which was likely what stopped him.

Instead, Dean sighed, grinding his teeth together as he tried to configure what to say.

"Look… Richard," Dean addressed him directly. "I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. I don't know what you were shown, or what you think you saw, but I can guarantee you that coming here tonight was a waste of your time, so-"

"Dean," Richard's calm, heavy voice silenced him. "I'm going to tell you, right now, that only I am the judge of what is a waste of my time and what isn't." Dean's lips pursed. "Now, we have two options here. We can either, one, stand here and debate until you give in, or you can make it easier for everyone and skip the earlier step." Dean glared. "I don't waste my time, Dean. Not even with kids like you."

Dean simmered.

"Now, permitting," or, rather, should Dean like to act like an adult, "I'd appreciate having a private conversation with you, if that's no great inconvenience." He blinked, exuding patience, which only made Dean feel even more infantile. Part of him wanted to yell and growl until they left – the part of him that didn't want to deal with whatever this was. But then he was reminded that he was nearly twenty-eight years old, that he'd lived on his own for the last ten years, and that the least he could do was have a mature conversation with this man, whoever he was.

It was quite the predicament, really.

Well, perhaps there was really no reason to put up such a fight. Nothing was going to come of it anyway – Dean had nothing to offer. And whoever thought he did, well, they'd know the truth soon enough.

"Alright," Dean finally composed himself, arms crossing over his chest.

"The piano is upstairs, in the studio," Anna offered, looking to Cas for consent, which he gave with a tight nod. Already exasperated with the whole thing, Dean refused to meet anyone's eyes as he slumped toward the spiral staircase, Richard following after. It wasn't until they'd disappeared up into the studio that Cas finally turned all his irritation on Anna.

"That could have been handled with a little more finesse," Cas commented, voice chilled and straight.

"I didn't realize he'd want to actually meet him. At least, not tonight," she offered somewhat meekly, though the subdued disposition was fighting quite ardently with her typical fire.

"You shouldn't have sent it out to anyone without asking first," Cas continued. "A little bit of preparation would have been appreciated." Especially on Dean's end.

"Preparation?" Anna questioned, eyebrow quirked. "How much preparation does he really need? I mean, shouldn't he be flattered or something? Richard Cain teaches at the most prestigious music school in the country, and he's paying  _Dean_  a personal visit."

"It's not that simple."

"It can be."

"You didn't grow up where we did," Cas almost snapped then, losing patience with the whole situation. "You've been here, in Chicago, your whole life." He was looking directly at her, Naomi pursing her lips despite how she knew her son wasn't blaming her for what he was implying. "You don't know what it's like to be in a place that suffocating. To be told over and over again what you are and how to act and what you're capable of. It's not that simple, and it will never be that simple." Especially for Dean, who'd lost his parents, and his future, and spent the last ten years fixing cars for other people, getting paid at the poverty line.

No, it wasn't a simple matter of being "flattered."

Anna didn't have a response, her lips clamping shut as she glanced to the floor. Richard's assistant was doing much the same, looking quite as though she was pretending not to listen. But Cas didn't care. Rather, he remained straight-faced and stoic, ears tuned for anything that might be heard upstairs. Part of him wanted to go up, if only to make sure Dean was alright – was handling everything – but he knew he couldn't. Dean wouldn't listen to him no matter what he said, no matter how talented Cas claimed he was. He needed to hear this from someone else, a stranger, someone who he couldn't contest. After that, perhaps, was when Cas would be needed.

Dean, however, was quite at a loss for what to do. The stubbornness in him kept him from speaking – kept him from sitting down at the piano even as "Richard" stood leaning against it, watching him.

"So," Richard, who didn't seem the least bit bothered by Dean's attitude, started speaking after a rather long, still pause, "from what I've gathered, you don't know how to read music."

"No," Dean replied, oddly confident in his lacking. "And I don't play piano either."

"Hmm, certainly not," Richard agreed, Dean glaring at the knowing look in his eyes. "I'm not here to shower you with praise, as you – apparently – might be fearing." Dean looked to the side. "You don't play piano, I could see that plain as day in that video."

"Wow, great, glad we've settled that," Dean remarked shortly. "So why are you here again?"

"Because, instrumental prowess aside, you have a gift. And I, for one, don't believe that the graces God bestowed upon us should be wasted."

"Honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about," Dean huffed, looking back up at him. "I don't know what you thought you heard or saw in that video, but I'm pretty sure it's no different than what any other beginner piano player could do." A belief he seriously held to be truth. "Probably less."

"Tell me, then," Richard nodded. "What were you doing in that video?"

Dean didn't answer right away, going back and forth between whether he should respond or not. But, in the end, he supposed it didn't matter. It'd all end the same.

"It's not friggen' rocket science," he gestured to the piano. "Each key makes a certain… note, whatever that is, and some of them sound better together than others. So I hit the ones that sound good together, and sometimes I mess around with… beats and stuff. Little kids could do that." Perhaps not as quickly as he could – he did have a certain amount of muscle memory, he could give himself that – but such a variable was hardly relevant.

"That's how you know what to play?" Richard questioned. "You instinctively know which notes sound better, which ones you want to come next?"

"Sure," Dean shrugged.

"Show me." Richard backed away from the piano, gesturing to the bench shortly.

"What?"

"Show me which notes you think sound better together." Pause. "It's not that much to ask, Dean."

Keeping his distance for a moment longer, Dean eventually gave in, sighing before marching his way over to the instrument. Eyeing Richard in irritation the whole time, he sat, glancing down at the keys lastly before he raised his hands to hover above them.

"Like… these three," his fingers fell down and tapped three keys together. "They sound alright. And if you hit this one, it sounds okay too." His other hand fell to another set. "And if you play all of these together with this one, it's a little jarring, but it still sounds okay."

"Those are chords, Dean."

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Dean shrugged, his hands falling to his legs. "Chords are notes that are supposed to sound good together, right? Anyone can hear that."

Richard took a deep breath before coming back over and sitting down on the bench beside Dean. Dean, who wouldn't look at him.

"Play something for me," he demanded.

"Uh… I don't know how to play anything," Dean said, tone rather snarky. "Unless you want to hear chopsticks."

"No, I want you to make something up," he clarified. "Just play whatever comes to mind." Dean furrowed his eyebrows, unsure what to make of such a demand.

"Like, just, mess around?"

"Yes."

Dean scoffed and shook his head, almost objecting in order to claim how stupid that was, but then rolled his eyes. Fine, he could do that. The sooner he did, the sooner this guy could leave.

It started out slow, just a single chord – long and repeated. And then Dean supposed maybe a few keys on the higher register might sound alright, so he added those too. It took him a moment, eyes narrowing as he considered – figuring out just where he thought he might go next. But soon enough his fingers were moving faster, were fluttering up and down the keys as he hit what others would consider the first movement. It came spilling out, like it always did. Sloppy and uncontrolled, Dean hardly able to dictate where it went, but keeping it somewhat in line. He stayed within the sounds that reverberated well together, though sometimes he did branch out – because sometimes a little discomfort shook things up. He tripped himself up a few times, had to slow down once and back up, starting again when he veered a little off track, but it stayed together well enough. Until it didn't. Until his hands had moved past his brain and it came to a tripping halt.

Fingers staggering on the keys, he shook his head, pulling himself back soon after.

For a moment, nothing was said, Dean supposing that Richard was reevaluating why he'd come. There was nothing impressive here, of that Dean was certain. There couldn't be.

There  _couldn't_.

"Tell me, Dean," Richard eventually started, his speech slow. "What, exactly, was going through your head to make you play what you just did?" The question was odd, and Dean found it difficult to answer. Because that was like asking a person why they thought what they did. He didn't know.

And that was exactly what he said. "I mean, I'm just… hitting the keys so they sound okay."

"What do you mean by 'okay?'"

"Like… not… bad?" Dean cocked an eyebrow. "I just…" He took a deep breath. "I know what I want it to sound like, sometimes, and so that's what I play."

"And what about the rhythms?"

"Well, anyone can make up rhythms," he shrugged. "That's got to be basic stuff…" Yeah, he was a little confused by where this was going. "Kids can play that stuff."

Richard took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if considering what he was going to say. "You're right," he eventually verified. "The difference, Dean, is execution. You don't know how to read music." As had been already established. "These beginner piano players you're constantly claiming, they read all of that off a sheet of paper. As do most professionals. And even the ones who can listen can't do more than replicate what they hear – usually rather poorly the first time through.

"I want you to do something for me." Richard pulled his own hands up over the piano. "I want you to listen to what I'm about to play, and then play it back to me as best you can, alright?"

Did he have a choice?

What Richard played wasn't long, maybe a dozen lines or so, but it was advanced. Complicated, but not beyond what Dean had been doing previously. Which was why, when it came to an end, Dean only hesitated for a moment before playing back as best he could what he'd heard. It was a bit slower, but he got to the end.

"I- I missed a few in there," he stated when he finished. "I didn't get it all right."

"No, you didn't," Richard agreed, "but you also don't know any notes or rhythms by name, so that doesn't make it any less impressive." Dean was clearly curious now, some of his barriers finally managing to come down. "So, you have the ability to listen and play back what you hear, and with very little practice." Because a few more shots and he'd have those bars down completely. "But, more than that," Richard narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, "you have the ability to compose music in your head and play it outright."

"Ah," Dean shook his head, "I'm not 'composing' anything."

"You play with intention," Richard continued. "That's what music composition is. Getting that which you hold up here," he pointed to his head, "down here," a gesture to the piano. "However, most composers don't have a clear flow from one to the other. With practice, something similar can be developed. Patterns can be varied, stretched out, made into new things. But not the way you do it.

"You are a very gifted young man, Dean. You just lack the tools to utilize those gifts."

"I don't…"

"Imagine if you knew how to write down what you played. So that others could play it."

"Why would anyone want to do that?" Dean was doubtful, Richard cocking his head to the side.

"Dean, what you're playing isn't poorly conceived. As you say, you know what notes sound better together, what rhythms go where. You have a natural inclination to push forward, to find those climaxes. You're telling stories, really, just with music instead of words."

Dean wasn't sure what to say, whether he even believed what this man was telling him. Because, really, what did that even mean? Instead, he stared down at the piano, trying his best to more concretely configure what he'd done, what he could do, but was running into walls no matter how hard he tried. Because that was the whole problem, wasn't it? Why he knew he wasn't any good? He couldn't even figure out his own attempts.

"Except I'm not," he objected. "I don't even know what I'm doing."

"I know," Richard laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're a writer without any text, a painter without any brushes. It's hard to communicate when you don't have the proper tools to say what you want to say. The big difference between you, Dean, and almost every other musician in the world is that, if you honed those skills – which wouldn't take long – you'd have more to say than most of them could even imagine."

"I don't… understand…"

"You need to learn how to read music," Richard said firmly. "You need to know more than the fact that certain notes sound good together – you need to know 'why.' You do that, you learn the keys and the scales, and the notes and rhythms, and I think this will all start to make a whole lot more sense to you."

"You say that like it's easy."

"It is," Richard's hand fell from his shoulder, Dean finally glancing up at him. "What you do, Dean, what comes so easily from that head," he nodded. "That's the hard stuff."

Dean's attention flicked back to the piano, a heavy silence falling between them. One that was only interrupted when Richard spoke again.

"I'm here in Chicago not just as a member of the Chicago Symphony, but also as a professor. I'm teaching a seminar over at the state university. It's a theory class, and I think you could get something out of it. You don't have to play or participate, but I think it'd be good if you came and sat in on it." Dean gulped, but said nothing. "I also, while we're here, want to make my teaching assistants available to you. Their names are Charlie and Benny, and if it's alright with you, I'd like them to come over here a few times a week and teach you how to read music. If," he nodded, "that's something you'd like to learn how to do."

"Why would you do that?" Dean asked quietly, unable to meet his stare.

"Because I'm a firm believer that no talent should go to waste. And if someone as passionate as you – I've heard about you on the news – can direct that energy into something like this, I know it'll be worth it in the end."

No response.

"You think about it," Richard leaned back, as if retreating from the situation. In the same moment, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. He set it atop the piano, Dean making no move to retrieve it. "Call that number, if you're interested." He left it at that, the studio soon in a state of stale emptiness. One that Dean didn't make any move to remedy. Rather, he sat, and stared out the windows, snow pattering against the glass. Some thoughts dashed into his head, but most of them were spun back and around, Dean too wrapped up in how impossible this all was to really entertain what had happened.

It wasn't until the uneven steps of Cas with his cane knocked into the room that he stirred, turning to look over his shoulder. Cas was nearly to him however, lowering himself down onto the piano bench even as Dean glanced away again.

"Everyone is gone," he murmured softly, his hands flexing on where he'd set them atop his thighs. Like he wanted to reach out to Dean, but thought it might be a poor idea. "Dean, I'm sorry about this. I hadn't intended for Anna to do what she did. If I'd known, I wouldn't have sent her anything." Whether he agreed with what had happened or not, he had unintentionally crossed a line of trust, and he wanted Dean to know he was sorry.

"It's alright," Dean replied quietly, his finger coming up to tap lightly on one of the keys, which pinged out accordingly. "It doesn't matter." What was done was done, and he knew Cas hadn't intended to drop this on him.

There was a momentary pause, Cas biting the inside of his cheek before daring to continue. "Richard said something about his assistants coming over to teach you to read music. Is that something you want to do?"

Dean didn't reply. He didn't know how to.

"Dean…" Cas's voice became quiet, like velvet, and Dean flicked his eyes to him. In the same moment, Cas's hand came up to rest on Dean's own – the one ponking at the piano. " _Do you_  want to do this?" Dean's lips pursed, Cas scooting a little close to him. "You just started classes today, and you'll have to take those whether you pursue what we'd originally discussed or not. But nothing is set in stone. If you want to do this, even just to try and see, I'll support you the whole way."

In more ways than one.

"But what if I can't?" Dean muttered, pulling his hand out from under Cas's. "What if everyone goes to all this trouble and I fail? I tried to learn how to read music once before, but I couldn't. What if this whole thing is just a big mistake?"

Cas moved his hand to Dean's shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. "How old were you when you first tried? You don't know that you'll fail. And even if it's hard, that's no reason to give up."

"I'm not giving up," he snapped. "I just… what if I just  _can't_?" Cas's eyebrows furrowed. "Maybe I'm not… smart enough for stuff like this."

"No," Cas jumped in almost immediately. "Being smart enough isn't even a question. You need to give yourself some credit. I know it's been a long time since you've been in school, and I know it's going to be hard, but, Dean…" he sighed. "You not being smart enough isn't even a variable. You  _are_. You just have to be willing to try."

To take a chance.

"You're putting all this money forth though, and now this Richard guy and his assistants and it just seems like too much."

"Too much in general?" Cas smiled just barely, the expression mostly apparent at the creases of his eyes. "Or too much for  _you_?"

Dean's lips and chin trembled slightly.

"I know life hasn't been kind to you," Cas murmured, squeezing his shoulder again, "and I know this is a lot of change all at one time. But I have faith in you. You're Dean Winchester," he smiled fully, tugging lightly on Dean's t-shirt. "You're more than what Burr made you. And you're  _not_  worthless."

Their eyes met.

"Dean, you're  _worth something_. It's only you that can't seem to see that."

Taking a shaky breath, Dean blinked, trying to keep the emotion that welled up within him at bay. Doing so had never been a skill he'd possesed it great quantities however – that he'd spent many nights over the last ten years with his face buried in his pillow a fact he'd never admit to anyone. He barely admitted it to himself. But there was something about the way Cas looked at him. In how full those heavy blue eyes were – full of things no one had ever bestowed upon Dean before. It was too much, to overwhelming, and his innate reaction was to reject it. To tell himself with certainty that he didn't deserve to be looked at in such a way. To be loved by someone so wholly and without judgment.

So completely.

But Cas did – always had – and Dean was  _tired_.

"Thank you," he finally managed to choke out, eyes blinking as the words left his lips. He could feel himself breaking, and habit told him to hide. To push it all away and pretend like it wasn't. But, even though the memory was gone, Cas had seen him like this once before. Had held him and told him it was okay. Which was, really, all Dean wanted.

Someone to assure him everything was alright.

That  _he_  was alright.

Swallowing hard, he tried to reason with all the shame he knew wasn't justified. Yet still it spilled over, the heel of his hand coming up to rub at his eye rather harshly, which really did nothing as he took a shaking breath. Instead, unwilling to face whatever understanding or sympathy was no doubt be etched into Cas's expression, he leaned forward. He wrapped his arms up and around Cas's back, hugging close as he tucked his nose against the other man's neck. He knew Cas could probably feel the tears that salted his cheeks, and the way his chest shook as he breathed, but it was too late. He didn't want to face it, so he kept himself wrapped up in Cas, more of that swollen emotion surging forth when Cas pulled him closer. He stroked Dean's back, and sifted his hand up through his short hair. He held him, and offered hushed, whisping words of comfort.

Until Dean spoke – because he felt like he had to.

"I hate that you came back to Burr," he mumbled into Cas's neck. "I hate everything that happened to you, and wish you'd never been there." His nose rubbed against Cas's shoulder, hands straining. "But I'm also so glad that you  _did_."

Cas smiled again.

"Me too."

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr - DemonDogDean


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